


Florida Kilos

by astolenbaguette



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Abusive Relationship, Alternative Universe - FBI, Blow Jobs, Gun Violence, Hand Jobs, M/M, Organized Crime, Recreational Drug Use, So I fixed that immediately, There's no "drugs sex and money" kind of fic in this fandom, Trophy Husband Grantaire, Undercover Agent Enjolras
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-19
Updated: 2021-03-06
Packaged: 2021-03-14 19:01:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 20,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29546922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/astolenbaguette/pseuds/astolenbaguette
Summary: FBI Agent Enjolras has been waiting for a career-making case. He finally gets it when his team is tasked with taking down one of Florida's biggest cocaine smugglers, a wealthy seafood CEO. Catching a drug kingpin won't be easy, but the kingpin's curly-haired husband just might be the key.
Relationships: Enjolras/Grantaire (Les Misérables)
Comments: 11
Kudos: 55





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is all one huge indulgence for me, but I'm hoping y'all enjoy it too. 
> 
> (The title is from the LDR song of the same name)

The first thing he noticed was the heat. 

Sweat slid from his neck down into the back of his navy blue polyester suit. His undershirt stuck to him like a second skin. He squinted under the unforgiving brightness. The sunshine state, indeed. 

“Here,” said Combeferre next to him, holding out a pair of black sunglasses. 

He momentarily let go of the wheel to put them on. “This place is a sauna.” 

In the backseat, he could hear Courfeyrac shrugging out of his suit jacket. “What are you talking about? It feels amazing out here! Remind me again why I live in DC.” 

Enjolras caught his eye in the car mirror. Courfeyrac couldn’t see his eyes roll through the dark glasses. “Because you work at Quantico.” 

He let down his window and laid his head against the seat in an exaggerated gesture of relaxation. “Then remind me why I do.”

“Because of your unique dedication to catching America’s biggest criminals, of course,” supplied Combeferre. It was the exact line their gray-haired speaker had given them during their induction into the Academy. Back when he was a fresh-faced college graduate fed up with schoolwork and desperate to do something that mattered. He was a professional undercover agent now but had only been given assignments busting minor syndicates and gangs. Not anymore. 

“Well right now, I’ve got a unique dedication to sip margaritas on the beach,” Courfeyrac sighed, staring wistfully out the window at the convertible stopped next to them. The top was down allowing for a full view of the driver, a woman in heart-shaped sunglasses. A basket full of towels and jugs of what he assumed was pina-colada sat on the passenger seat. Her fellow bikini-clad friends were in the back singing along to a pop song on the radio. 

He rolled up Courfeyrac’s window from the driver’s side. “We’re not here on vacation, Courf,” he chastised. 

“Trust me, I know,” Courfeyrac grumbled, staring disappointingly ahead at something. Enjolras followed his eyes to a Motel sign. One of the plastered on letters hung off and swung in the light breeze. He turned the car into the parking lot of the small complex. They took in the depressing visage of gray doors and metal railings. 

“Guess higher-profile cases doesn’t mean better accommodations,” joked Combeferre as he pulled suitcases out of their equally inconspicuous and ugly rental. 

Enjolras took off his sunglasses, eyes adjusting to the violent glare of sunlight off the white walls. A poor attempt at landscaping stood near his feet where long-forgotten plants withered. The air smelt like seawater and gasoline. He smiled. 

“Well boys,” he drawled, turning to face them, “let’s get to work.” 

* * *

Enjolras gave himself a once-over in the car’s side mirror. He straightened his tie and his holster. Visiting the local police stations was always his least favorite part of the job. Local precincts almost always came with their own brand of corruption and bias. In drug hot spots like this one, it was guaranteed. Still, he was put in charge of this case, so it was his duty to meet with the local detective who had been keeping it warm for them. 

“Sit down,” demanded a gruff, female voice when he entered the room. It came from the woman at the long metal desk in the center of the private office. She didn’t look up until she’d slipped the scattered papers into a manila folder and lit a cigarette. 

“First, let’s get something straight,” she sneered, pointing the cigarette at him for emphasis. “This is my case.”

Enjolras groaned. “Listen, Detective…”

“Thenardier,” she supplied. “Detective Eponine Thenardier.”

He was getting really tired of doing this dance. “Detective Thenardier, while the Bureau appreciates your work, this case goes beyond your jurisdiction and will require national resources to solve,” he monotoned. 

“My work,” she repeated with venom, “is the only reason the Bureau caught a whiff of this guy.” She punctuated her statement with the slam of a large file on Enjolras’ side of the desk. 

“I’ve been briefed,” he clipped out. “Felix Tholomyes. Age 42, CEO of Tholomyes Fisheries, heir to a seafood empire, and if all this is to be believed,” he said, tapping the file, "the key to stopping the flow of cocaine into Southern Florida.”

Eponine took a long drag. “While seafood sales only seem to go down, Tholomyes has doubled the family fortune. He and his husband -”

“Husband?” Enjolras interrupted. 

She raised an eyebrow. “I thought you’d been briefed?” 

“Only on the important things,” he shrugged.

She shook her head a little but explained nonetheless. “Pretty, young thing if I remember right. The family was reluctantly supportive. It was the shock of the week, but it takes more than that to stay scandalous around here.” 

Enjolras was only half-listening, distracted by the papers he was idly flipping through. “All this evidence is circumstantial,” he pointed out. 

“I’m aware,” Eponine sighed. “But the opportunity to gather concrete evidence has presented itself. We would have to go undercover -”

“We?”

She gave her cigarette an angry flick against the ashtray at this second interruption. “I did undercover for half a decade. I’m more than capable.” 

He opened his mouth but closed it again when dark eyes met his. 

“I won’t be strong-armed out of this. I’m going to see it through.” Her voice was low yet powerful. 

He admired her commitment. He knew cases like this were one in a million and had a way of consuming you. It wasn’t exactly by the books, but he didn’t see any reason not to trust her. 

“Okay,” he agreed. “I'm sure we can help eachother.”

She leaned back in her chair, a satisfied grin on her face. 

“Now what’s this opportunity of yours?” he asked. 

Her expression turned from calm to teasing. “I hope you like to party.”

* * *

Road stretched out before them. A thin, glowing strip of white over black, endless seas. The car rattled over the uneven concrete like they were driving over the surface of the moon. 

Something slow and haunting was playing between the sounds of static. He cut the radio off. 

“Roll down a window,” groaned Eponine. “This dress is killing me.” 

She ran her hands over the tight-fitted red satin. It matched his own outfit. Obsidian black tuxedo. Gold cufflinks. Red handkerchief tucked stylishly into his front pocket. Even their beat-up car had been replaced with a sleek, black Lexus. 

Courfeyrac had helped them nail down their look. Complaining all the while that he never got to do the glamourous missions. 

There’s a lot of words Enjolras would use for the sort of disgusting display of wealth they were participating in, but glamorous wasn’t one of them. 

“We’re almost at Grand Isle,” she said, adjusting the pearl-tipped pins holding up her hair. “You can taste the salt in the air.” 

Grand Isle was what locals called the expanse of mansions and docks they were about to drive through. They called it that because of the way the land broke up at the tip of Florida. It made the houses seem like they were on their own personal island, floating away from the rest of the city in mystery and opulence. 

“Do we need to go over the plan again?” Enjolras asked, staring straight ahead. He refused to be impressed by the giants of architecture that were beginning to tower them. 

Eponine had no such restraint and poked her head out the window to catch glimpses of the houses set behind elaborate gardens and gates. He thought he’d have to repeat the question when she suddenly began to speak. 

“Once we’re in, I create a distraction while you head upstairs and look for evidence.” 

He nodded at her in confirmation. “Do you know how you’re going to -”

She cut him off. “I’m no amateur Enjolras. I’ve got a bartender who owes me a favor. He’s going to help us get the guards away from the stairwell. Meanwhile, I’ll keep an eye on Tholomyes to make sure he stays downstairs. The rest is up to you golden boy.” 

He bristled at the impromptu nickname.

Their car fell into a line of other luxury vehicles all headed to the same chaos of lights in the distance. They drove through enormous, bronze gates held open on either side by tall men in black overcoats and chauffeur caps. 

“Bet you those gates are electronic, and they paid those guys to pretend to hold them,” Eponine snickered. 

It actually made Enjolras laugh. “It’s a charity gala Eponine. Anything for the children or the rhinos or whatever cause these people are exploiting to get drunk today.” 

He heard Eponine snicker again from where she was grabbing a bag out of the back seat. She straightened back up and pulled out two ornate masks. 

“Not just any charity gala,” she smirked. 

She slipped on her mask, a show of realistic red feathers with a dramatic, small golden beak that jutted over her nose, then handed him his. It was shaped like a white tiger and covered in stylized black lines. 

“Why animals?” he asked as he pulled the car up to the front.

They both looked up at the large cloth banners that hung down from either side of the entrance. White cursive on black fabric read: THE SIXTH EXTINCTION. Yikes. 

A young valet in an unkept suit and plain black mask was already rushing towards them. Enjolras threw his keys to the boy and watched as he slipped into the driver’s seat and started the car in one smooth motion. Ahead of them, the crowd moved in a strange and glittering herd. 

Eponine held out her arm. “You ready?” 

A sound like a gunshot rang out followed by cheers as someone popped a bottle of champagne inside.

Enjolras slipped his arm through hers. “Let’s do this.” 

Getting past the door was the easy part. Their names had been on the list as Mr. and Mrs. Lamarque. The bouncer waved them through after only a cursory glance. 

The entrance led into an exorbitant parlor full of stiff embroidered chairs and velvet sofas. Vases sat on stained glass tables. Silver candlesticks lined over a pristine fireplace. It all had the feel of having never been touched. 

All the guests were either spilling into the adjacent ballroom or out the patio doors into the garden. The only permanent human presence in the parlor were the two guards blocking off the grand stairway. 

“We need to find Tholomyes,” whispered Eponine, pulling them towards the patio doors. 

The doorway was congested with people because every guest seemed to falter and stop a second when they stepped outside. As the bejeweled heads begin to clear, Enjolras could see why. In the center of the garden was a crystal pool the size of a basketball court, and in it floated large paper swans. Directly on the other side, a stage was set up. Roses crawled up the side of it and stopped at the feet of a woman in a gold deer mask, singing soft, incomprehensible words to the tune of smooth jazz. 

“Whoa,” Eponine breathed out. 

“Don’t get caught up in it,” Enjolras warned. “We’ve got a job to do.”

Eponine glared at him but pushed forward into the crowd to find the bar. It was on the edge of the garden, lit up brilliantly, and staffed with bartenders in matching white suits and masks. 

“There’s our lovely host.”

Tholomyes stood near the bar in an intricate lion mask. He was on the base of a statue so that he could talk down to the crowd around him. The other animals hung on to his every word. 

“Great, he's already in the perfect position. I’ll go over there and you go near the stairs to await the signal. After that I’ll run interference on Tholomyes as much as needed to keep him out here,” whispered Eponine. “But hurry,” she added, mouth twisting in disgust. “He seems like the type that gets handsy.”

Enjolras grimaced but nodded. Eponine sauntered towards the bar as he slunk back to the patio doors. He couldn’t exactly just stand and wait right next to the stairs, so he stopped on the edge of the platform, lounging near a crowd of smokers.

“Excuse me miss,” he said, approaching a woman in a fitted black dress and a porcelain cat mask, “you wouldn’t happen to have an extra cigarette?” 

The woman flipped open what looked like a custom cigarette case. “Only for you tiger,” she purred, handing him a long cigarette. He bent down for her to light it and tried to take a convincing huff. He barely suppressed his cough. “Thanks,” he said, voice strained. 

“So, what’s your name?” the woman asked. Unfortunately for her, aimless pretend flirting was Eponine’s job. 

“I was actually about to make a phone call,” he replied. The woman gave an indignant humph before turning back to her friends.

He inched his way back near the doors, hoping the cigarette was providing enough cover. A bright red flicker caught the corner of his eye. Eponine was sitting at the bar now. Tholomyes only a few seats down from her. The bartender was preparing a flaming drink and the people nearby clapped at the dangerous theatrics. Eponine hadn’t told him what the signal would be, so his eyes wandered intently around the party. 

“Ahhhhh!” 

His hands reached for his gun out of instinct but stilled when he looked in the direction of the screaming. The bar was on fire now. The flames catching to the gaudy decorations around it. The guests loitering near the patio ran towards it like moths wanting to be a part of the excitement. He watched as the guards from the parlor ran outside as well, speaking furiously into their headsets. As far as distractions went, it was pretty damn effective. 

It was now or never. He walked back into the parlor. The orchestra played so loudly in the ballroom that the dancers hadn’t noticed the commotion. He ran up the now unguarded stairway until he reached the third floor. If their sources were correct, then Tholomyes’ office would be somewhere down this hall. His guess was the large double wooden doors. He pulled the thin lapel pin out of his suit and bent it in half. It only took a few seconds for the lock to give. 

The light from the hallway illuminated the wooden floors and furniture. The door closed behind him plunging the room back into darkness. He brushed his hands across the wall to feel for a light switch. Finally, he felt something sticking out and flicked it up. The room stuttered to life. 

It was exactly what he was expecting. A large mahogany desk. An empty leather chair. A bookcase on one side, a dry bar on the other. It reminded him of his father’s office, except for the taxidermy bass hanging on the wall. Nothing screamed drug cartel, but he knew well enough that the closer to the top you get, the nicer the façade. 

He poured over the desk drawers to no avail. He knew it wouldn’t be that easy, but he’s nothing if not thorough. He turned his attention to the computer on the desk. It looked ancient. Hacking wasn’t his specialty, that would be Joly’s, but he’d give it the old Academy try. The computer began booting up when the screen blanked out and an error appeared. “No bootable devices found.”

Shit.

Shit. Shit. Shit. 

The chair spun in frantic circles as he pushed it out the way to get to the computer tower. 

Damnit. The hard drive was missing.

He took a steadying breath.

Tholomyes was covering his tracks. He must’ve been constantly removing and replacing the hard drives to prevent anyone from hacking him remotely. It meant that no amount of digging through his files or even taking the computer itself would be helpful. They needed the hard drives. 

Before he could think, he found himself searching every corner and crevice. He pulled at the books on the shelf. Tapped the walls and the floors. Checked behind paintings and mirrors. Nothing.

He pressed his eyes shut. Where would Tholomyes keep it? Probably not near himself. So, with someone he trusts. But who?

A distant sound pulled him out of his thoughts. Enjolras checked his watch. 20 minutes. That wasn’t bad but definitely enough time to put out a small fire and disperse a crowd. He needed to get back downstairs. He made sure everything was back in place and turned off the light. As long as the guards hadn’t resumed their positions at the stairs then his exit would go undetected. He peeked out into the hallway. Empty. He shut the door quietly. Now all he needed to do was lock it back.

“I could’ve sworn that room was already locked.” 

Fuck. 

He slowly turned around. A man was now leaning against the opposite wall, lips tied up in a devious smile. He was shorter than Enjolras. Thin with broad shoulders. Black curls stuck out from the top of a white rabbit mask.

Enjolras stood up straight, lapel pin still in his hand. He was waiting for an attack or a call for security.

“Well, mysterious handsome stranger, what do you have to say for yourself?” 

He would’ve assumed the question was rhetorical but the man stood there like he was waiting for an answer. Enjolras was notably good at improvisational tactics, but what excuse can you give a person who caught you lockpicking a private room? 

His brain raced to the challenge and words rushed out of his mouth before he even processed them. “I’m a locksmith. Mr. Tholomyes hired me...to check the locks.”

The white rabbit doubled over in laughter. Enjolras watched in unconcealed confusion as the man clutched the wall, shoulders shaking. 

“You’re funny,” he said, catching his breath. The way he said it was strange. Like he’d made up his mind about something. 

Every hair on Enjolras’ body was on edge. Who was this guy? He weighed his options. The guy was smaller than Enjolras. There was a 90% chance he’d succeed if he went in for a silent takeout. Where would he put the body? He could hide it in the office. Empty out a whiskey bottle and put it near him. Make it look like this guest broke into the room and helped themselves to Tholomyes’ personal bar until they passed out. Would that be believable? Perhaps Tholomyes would be too mad to even give the guy a chance to explain.

“If I was a guest I might've believed you," the man said, unaware of Enjolras' thoughts. "Too bad I’m Mr. Tholomyes’ husband.” 

Well, there goes that plan. 

Of course, his husband. It explained the boldness and why he’d even be up here. Why didn’t they check for the location of Tholomyes’ husband? It was a slip up he was now paying for. 

The man gave him a curious look, “So tell me, what were you really doing in my husband’s office?”

“I was looking for something,” he responded, voice as toneless as possible. 

“For what?”

Enjolras felt his nerves running thin. Perhaps he should put his brainpower back into figuring out where to hide this guy’s body. The man seemed to sense Enjolras’ hesitation and stepped closer. 

“What’s your name?”

Enjolras didn’t miss a beat. “Lamarque.” 

Tholomyes' husband tilted his head to the side. 

It took Enjolras a second to realize that he was waiting for a first name. Five years in the field and suddenly he couldn't think of a single one besides his own. 

"Enjolras Lamarque," he finished. 

“Well Lamarque, Enjolras Lamarque” the rabbit-masked man mocked as he stepped even closer. “Do you like drinking games?” 

Enjolras opened his mouth only to close it again. He wasn’t sure what Tholomyes’ husband was playing at, but considering how close he’d gotten since they started this interrogation it was nothing good.

“Do I even have a choice?” 

The white rabbit grinned. “Not if you don’t want me to start screaming at the top of my lungs.”

The man gestured towards the office. Enjolras opened the door and heard it shut behind him with a sharp twist of the lock. He panicked at his growing lack of control in this situation.

The curly-haired stranger confidently walked past Enjolras and towards the dry bar. 

“Hope you’re a dark liquor sort of guy because that’s all Tholomyes drinks,” he said as he sorted through a myriad of bottles. “Whiskey or Rum? I’ll take your silence as ‘no preference’. Jack Daniels it is then.”

He walked back in front of Enjolras with a large bottle and two shot glasses. Before Enjolras could say anything he sat down cross-legged on the hardwood floor.

“Well?”

There are fatal mistakes you make that catch you by surprise. Then there are ones that stare you right in the eyes, tell you how badly it will end, and dare you to make them anyway. 

Enjolras sat across from him. 

“The rules are simple,” he said while pouring whiskey into the glasses. “We each get to ask each other a question, and if you don’t want to answer you have to drink. As a show of good faith, I’ll let you go first.” 

He slid Enjolras’ glass towards him.

Enjolras stared at the whiskey with distrust. If this oddity in front of him was being genuine then getting information would be almost too easy. Suspiciously easy. What if the drink was laced? Or maybe the glass itself? What if Tholomyes knew the FBI was at the party, so he poisoned the glasses and sent his husband up here to carry out the plot? Should he make him drink first? Should he switch the glasses? Before he descended any further into madness he realized that he could technically ask him. 

“This isn’t an elaborate setup, is it?”

The rabbit mask shook as he laughed. He had a full laugh, the kind that always managed to be a bit too loud. “You’re giving me too much credit. I could never pull off something like that alone, and Tholomyes remains unaware of your misdeeds. If it helps, I have no reason to trust you either.”

Enjolras nodded his head slowly taking that in. “Okay, your question.”

“Why the tiger mask?”

Enjolras was shocked that he didn’t go for the obvious question but he humored him nonetheless. “I was told that a tiger mask would scare away bad luck and misfortune.”

The man smirked. “This game will certainly put that to the test.”

Enjolras decided to return the favor. “Why the white rabbit?”

The man’s eyes flashed and Enjolras instantly regretted asking. “The symbolism of the white rabbit is endless. Maybe I feel like I’m running out of time. Maybe I’m trying to express that I’m burdened by an expectation I always fall short of. Maybe I’m portraying my innocence. Or maybe, I’m a harbinger of disaster leading my unsuspecting follower into a nightmare. You can take your pick.” 

Enjolras tensed.

“My turn,” the rabbit said. 

Brown eyes stared at him. “What were you looking for in here?”

Enjolras stared back for a moment. He drank.

“Wouldn’t your husband be searching for you by now?” 

The man’s smile faltered. He drank.

The smile raised itself back up as he refilled their glasses, now a touch more vicious. 

“Did you find what you were looking for?” asked his strange new host. 

“No,” answered Enjolras truthfully. 

He decided to ask a riskier question. “How much does your husband tell you about his business dealings?”

“I know far more than he tells me,” the man answered smoothly. He gave Enjolras a suspicious glance. “Are you a cop?”

“No,” Enjolras said without hesitation.

He decided not to back off. “Does your husband really make all this money from seafood?”

The man instantly picked up his glass and drank. He slammed it back on the ground. 

“Prove you’re not a cop.” 

“That’s not a question,” Enjolras responded with a sly smile. 

He could see the man visibly relax at the remark. He rolled his eyes. “Fine. Can you prove that you’re not a cop?”

How does someone prove they’re not a cop? He could only prove he’s not something by proving he’s something else. Wait, that’s it!

“I’m a journalist,” he said. “I used some connections to get into this party and I was hoping I’d find a front-page story in here.”

The man looked convinced. “How did you get upstairs?” 

“I had a friend create a distraction to lure the guards away.”

His eyes grew wide and his mouth fell open. It would have been an absurd expression regardless, but the mask made it look surreal. “You’re responsible for that fire?”

Enjolras looked away and drank, wincing at the burn.

The rabbit mask slipped from how hard he was laughing now. “Oh my god! Felix was furious! Someone’s dress caught on fire! Took the whole security squad to put her out!” He readjusted his mask. “Oh wipe the horror off your face, she’s fine. Her dress had so many layers it was basically flame retardant. Felix will throw money at her like any other problem. The bartenders, on the other hand, are definitely not getting paid.” 

Enjolras’ heartbeat slowed down as he confirmed that said woman couldn’t have been Eponine. He made a mental note to make sure the agency paid the bartenders for their trouble. He could already feel his head becoming fuzzy and his thoughts getting slower. Damn his lightweightness! He tried to clear his head and focus on his original task. 

“You asked three questions in a row,” he pointed out. 

“Hmm, you’re right. Guess I’ll have to take a penalty shot,” the brunette said as he refilled his glass and knocked it back. “It’s only fair that you get to ask me three questions.”

Enjolras considered this. 

“What’s your name?”

He knew that he could have looked it up in his files later, but for some reason, he wanted to know now. 

The man looked shocked for a second, but then his face returned to a neutral expression. He removed his mask, revealing a clearer picture of his face. Stray black curls fell onto a strong forehead. Long lashes stretched out freely. All the interesting fragments of his face finally coming together. Enjolras flushed.

“Does my existence really pale so much in comparison to my husband’s? I guess that’s fair. My name is Grantaire,” the man - Grantaire - said.

“Grantaire,” Enjolras repeated, trying the name out in his mouth. 

“I have to say," Grantaire confessed, "I like the way it sounds when you say it.”

Enjolras flushed harder. He felt weird being the only one in a mask so he slipped his off as well. 

He cleared his throat. “Umm second question. You said you know more than your husband tells you. Do you know anything about his drug ring?”

“Going straight for the serious questions now huh,” Grantaire laughed hollowly. He maintained eye contact as he uncapped the whisky bottle and poured the amber liquid into his glass. Then he winked as he drank it down. 

The message was clear. Grantaire was done playing, but Enjolras had finally found his footing in this game. He grabbed the bottle from Grantaire and refilled their glasses.

“Hypothetically, if Tholomyes was ever caught and you were somehow ruled complicit, would you want to go down with him?”

Grantaire was silent for a while. Then he grabbed his drink and brought it up to his lips. Before he could drink it, he placed it back on the ground. “No,” he mumbled.

“I mean I love him,” he said quickly as if Enjolras was about to condemn him. “I just…,” he trailed off. 

The silence that followed was suffocating. “Your turn,” Enjolras said, breaking it. 

Grantaire raised his head from where he had been staring at his full shot glass. His entire face transformed instantly, no trace of his solemn expression left.

“Mr. Lamarque, do you find me attractive?”

Enjolras audibly swallowed. Saying ‘no’ would technically be a lie. Saying ‘yes’ didn’t seem appropriate though considering that Grantaire was married even if he seemed to have forgotten that. He had no choice then. Enjolras picked up his glass and emptied it. Eponine was going to kill him. 

This seemed to satisfy Grantaire. “Do you trust me, Enjolras?” 

He moved the bottle and glasses from in between them and crawled closer.

“I thought it was my turn to ask a question,” he stammered out.

Grantaire was sitting right in front of him. He put his hands on Enjolras’ shoulders as he looked him in the eye. Enjolras' vision was blurrier than it was a minute ago. All he could see was a brown darker and deeper than all the liquor they’d consumed. 

“Ask me to dance,” Grantaire whispered.

“What?”

“You heard me,” Grantaire giggled, breathy and intoxicating. “Ask me to dance.” 

Enjolras realized distantly that he was smiling. His mind firmly decided that this was a bad idea, but when he opened his mouth he heard himself saying, “Grantaire, would you like to dance?”

Grantaire pretended to swoon. “I thought you’d never ask!” 

He lifted them both up to their feet and placed the cups and bottle back on the dry bar. Then he turned around for a moment and just stared at Enjolras with a wide grin on his face.

Enjolras didn’t have the chance to ask about it before Grantaire grabbed his hand and pulled him out of the room. He managed to turn off the lights and close the door behind him, wincing at the noise. 

“You think we should lock it back?” Grantaire whispered.

Enjolras took out his lapel pin and knelt down to lock it. After a minute or two of him jiggling the pin around Grantaire knelt down next to him. 

“Is it working?” he asked. 

Enjolras stared at the lock with all the concentration he could manage. He turned to Grantaire, and with a very serious expression whispered, “I’m not sober enough to do this.” 

Grantaire attempted to suppress his laugh but failed. Soon, Enjolras joined in. The part of his brain the alcohol hadn’t muted warned him that everything about this was wrong. He only laughed harder. Grantaire was practically on the floor wheezing when they finally stopped. 

“Fuck,” he rasped sitting up from the floor. 

Enjolras helped him up to his feet. “What are you going to tell Tholomyes?”

Grantaire looked up in deep thought. “I’ll tell him we have ghosts.”

Enjolras snorted. “Lockpicking ghosts?”

Grantaire gave him a fake shocked expression. “Did I not tell you about the ghost of an angry locksmith that roams our halls? He was hired to check the locks during a charity gala, but when the owner’s husband found him breaking into an office - he killed him.” 

Enjolras just rolled his eyes. “Well, how am I supposed to get downstairs? The guards will be back by now,” he said, words slurring together despite his best efforts. 

Grantaire considered this. “Come on,” he said, grabbing Enjolras’ hand. He left him out of view at the top of the stairs and walked down to the first floor. Enjolras watched him speak intently to the guards, and he gestured for Enjolras to come down after they walked off. 

“What did you tell them?” 

“That they had more pressing matters elsewhere.” Grantaire reached up and slipped Enjolras’ mask back over his face, then he did the same with his. “And so do we.”

* * *

The ballroom was small but what it lacked in size it made up for in extravagance. The walls were bordered with crown molding and the corners gilded in gold. There were ornate tapestries hanging along the far walls. High ceilings, floor-length windows, excessive pastel. It was a carbon copy of French Rococo. Enjolras hated it. He wondered if Eponine’s bartender would be willing to burn this down as well. 

“You philistine! I love this room,” Grantaire said, pulling Enjolras out of his thoughts. Had he been talking out loud?

“There’s no reason to spend this much money for aesthetics,” Enjolras reasoned.

“You wouldn’t say that if you could see how nice you looked under a chandelier,” Grantaire insisted.

Enjolras turned the same shade of red as his handkerchief. 

“You’re so easy,” Grantaire laughed in disbelief. “I don’t believe people aren’t constantly falling all over you.” 

Truthfully, Enjolras didn’t interact with many people who weren’t other agents or being actively arrested by him. 

Grantaire took note of his frown. “Seriously?” 

He shrugged. “I’m always busy. Romance is too much trouble.” 

Grantaire smiled and it reminded him of the curve of a violin. He sounded like one too when he said, “The trouble’s the best part.” 

He grabbed Enjolras by his suit jacket and pulled him into the middle of the room where several couples were already slow dancing. The orchestra started up another piece. Enjolras had never been one to dance. He was bad at it and embarrassing himself in front of strangers wasn't his idea of a good time. No matter how much Courfeyrac tried to convince him otherwise. Yet, when Grantaire slipped his arms around his neck he found he didn't really mind.

His head was still fuzzy but the sensation got nicer the more he gave into it. He put his arms around Grantaire’s waist, and he could feel Grantaire grin into his chest. They stayed like that for a while, holding onto each other as they swayed. Too soon it felt, the orchestra stopped, people began to clap, and the dancers separated. Strong arms let go of him and he felt awkward standing there now without them. Grantaire didn’t share his anxiety and with one swift motion he leaned up and planted a soft kiss on Enjolras’ lips. When Grantaire pulled back, Enjolras was suddenly incapable of forming words. Luckily, he didn’t need to.

Grantaire handed him a napkin with a number scrawled on it. “Call me if you ever want to make your own front-page scandal,” he whispered in his ear. He winked at Enjolras before turning around and walking away. 

He stood there for a moment, staring at the place Grantaire used to be. He put the napkin in his pocket. He asked the waiter for water and sat in the parlor amidst the dying noises of conversation. By the time Eponine found him, he had sobered up. 

“Enjolras! Thank god! Where the hell have you been?” Her nose crinkled as she smelt the whiskey on his suit. “Have you been drinking?” she asked in horror as if Enjolras was an unruly teenager. 

“It was crucial to the mission,” he responded, not quite meeting her eyes.

“Well, did you find something useful?”

He turned to fully face her, a victorious smile plastered on his face. “Even better, I found  _ someone _ useful.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sun is shining, skies are blue  
> I got a better view, crawling the avenue down in Florida

Enjolras slid his fingers over the rough napkin. The ink had bled into the white fibers, the numbers a blurry but legible scrawl across the surface. He repeated the ten digits under his breath over and over again. 

“Are you sure about this?” 

He looked up at Eponine. She was still in her red satin gown but the hairpins were scattered on the table, her hair falling loosely.

He opened his mouth but Combeferre answered for him. “No, he’s right. This might be our only option.” 

“What if he doesn’t know where they are?” asked Courfeyrac, from where he sat half-asleep on the bed. They’d been up all night waiting for him and Eponine to get back, but there was still no sleep to be had. 

Enjolras set down the napkin. “We have to assume he does Courfeyrac. We have no other leads.” He raised his voice at the end though he didn’t mean to.

The room was quiet. 

Enjolras reached for the cup of coffee he’d been given when he first started to recall his encounter with Grantaire. It was cold now. 

“Okay,” said Eponine, breaking the silence. “We bring the guy in, we get the location of the hard drives, and we close this thing before the summer’s over.” 

Courfeyrac shook his head. “Cheating is one thing, I’m sure they both do it, but sending his husband to prison…” he trailed off with a scoff. 

Combeferre nodded his head in agreement. His arms were crossed and his fingers tapped against the top of them. It was a sign that he was coming up with a plan. 

“He wouldn’t throw his livelihood under the bus. Not unless he had to.” Combeferre looked around the room, waiting for lightbulbs to pop over the rest of their heads. 

Enjolras swore the room got brighter. 

“Obstruction of justice?” suggested Courfeyrac. 

“That would stick but it’s not scary enough,” Combeferre objected. 

“Aiding and abetting?” Eponine threw out. 

Combeferre’s fingers tapped faster. “Closer, but it would be hard to prove that he was directly involved in any way.” 

“Felony accessory after the fact!” Enjolras exclaimed. “It’ll stick and it’s a three years sentence.” 

“More in Florida,” Eponine added.

“Wait,” Courfeyrac interjected, his sleepy expression long gone. “Aren’t spouses exempt from that?” 

“Not for capital offenses,” she answered. Her coffee sloshed around in her cup from her excited gestures. “This could work! We know he knows!” 

“Our word means nothing in court and he’ll know that," Combeferre said soberly. “We need evidence of him incriminating himself.” 

They all looked towards the napkin resting innocently on the table. 

Enjolras set his jaw. “I can do it. I’ll call him up. Wear a wire. Trick him into confessing.” 

Combeferre walked up to him and gave him a firm pat on the shoulders. In Combeferre language, it meant ‘good luck.’ 

“You can’t do it for another day though. You don’t want to seem too eager,” said Courfeyrac. 

Enjolras ran his fingers over his tired eyes. “This is a sting operation Courf, not a real date.” 

“He doesn’t know that,” Courfeyrac reasoned. 

Enjolras hated to admit it, but that made sense. Still… "What am I supposed to do in the meantime?” 

With that Eponine grabbed her purse from where it had been thrown onto the bed. “I don’t know about you, but I’m going to sleep.” 

“We all should,” Combeferre agreed. 

They filed out the door together. The first rays of sunlight shot into the small motel room over their shoulders. The glow of cheap fluorescents was all that was left when it closed behind them. 

He almost followed Courfeyrac and Combeferre into their room a few doors down. He wanted to force them to listen to all his worries, but he knew that wasn’t fair to them. It didn’t seem fair to the blank walls either, so he stripped down and laid in bed. Despite his anxiety, the minute his head hit the pillow sleep overcame him.

_ It was a warm day, not sweltering but cool. The heat of the sun was blocked by the shade of the large tree he was sitting under. He was staring at the clouds above him though he couldn’t remember when he’d started or for how long he’d been doing it. A strange itch began tickling the back of his mind as he noticed they weren’t moving when a strong wind flowed through the meadow. It lifted up the white flowers, and he watched them fly into the air and fall back down at the feet of someone.  _

_ They were wearing a green waistcoat. Over it was an oversized tailcoat that hung past the backs of their knees. In their hands was a golden watch, and they peered at it with striking brown eyes through a rabbit mask.  _

_ “Grantaire?” Enjolras whispered. He was sure it was Grantaire. Though the rabbit mask didn’t have any straps anymore. Instead, it clung to his face like it was a part of it.  _

_ “Grantaire,” he said louder, hoping to get the man’s attention.  _

_ Grantaire didn’t hear him. He closed the watch and began to walk off in a hurry.  _

_ Enjolras got up and raced after him.  _

_ “Grantaire!” he yelled. He stumbled over tree roots and rocks. Sweat prickled at his hairline. It was getting hotter. “Grantaire!”  _

_ The ears on the mask turned and cocked towards him. It was disturbing enough to stop Enjolras in his tracks.  _

_ Grantaire finally looked at him. Enjolras noticed for the first time that his eyes were smaller than normal, beady. “I can’t talk right now. I’m late.”  _

_ They were standing by a large hole in the earth. Ominous sounds poured from it but nothing could be seen.  _

_ “What’s in there?”  _

_ “Do you want to find out?”  _

_ Enjolras stepped up to the edge. Without moving, Grantaire appeared next to him.  _

_ “Do you trust me, Enjolras?” he whispered.  _

_ The sounds inside got louder until they seemed to vibrate the ground around them.  _

_ “No, I -” but it was too late. He was already falling.  _

He woke up in a sweat. It was only because he’d forgotten to turn on the air when he went to bed. Not because of anything he dreamed about. 

Though even if Grantaire hadn’t infested his unconscious, the strange man was still consuming his waking hours. 

The questions rolled around in his head until it hurt. Where would Grantaire suggest they go? How would he get the confession? What if Tholomyes found out about it? 

There was also the unavoidable thought that kept popping up. If last night was any indication, then the brunette had certain expectations for what they were going to do during this rendezvous. The idea had a strange effect on his nerves, and he went running three times that day. 

It’s not that he couldn’t perform (he couldn’t believe this was a real thought he was having) but he never had to mix business and pleasure in this way before. His superiors always talked about going above and beyond the call of duty, but they were talking about putting your life in danger not...well not this. 

Still, he couldn’t allow himself to forget the larger picture. Taking down Tholomyes was the only thing that mattered. 

With that in mind, he picked up the phone the next morning and called Grantaire’s number. 

“Hello?” said a voice on the other end, deep with sleep. 

“Grantaire?”

“Yes,” he answered back with an irritated tone. 

Enjolras cleared his throat. “This is Enjolras Lamarque. From the gala.” 

He heard shifting for a while and then the voice came back brighter. “So the white tiger finally calls.”

“I would’ve called sooner but you know…” 

“Didn’t want to seem eager?” Grantaire guessed. “Don’t worry Enjolras, I like eager.” 

Enjolras didn’t know what to say to that. Luckily after a brief pause, Grantaire spoke again. 

“Your timing is perfect actually. I’m going to take out the yacht today. For a man whose whole life is the water, Felix hates sailing. So, he won’t be around to bother us.” 

Enjolras’ heart sped up but his voice didn’t betray him. “Sounds great. Where should I meet you?”

“Rhode's Marina. Be there at one.” 

Grantaire didn’t wait for confirmation. He simply said, “See you then,” and hung up the phone.

* * *

His reflection stared back at him in the gleam of the shiny white boat. He had been clueless about what one wears to go yachting and reluctantly let Courfeyrac dress him again. Now he stood before himself in a red polo shirt, white shorts, and boating shoes. The sunglasses tucked on top of his blond hair weren’t helping him look less punchable. 

Still, it was working. He hadn’t attracted a single suspicious glance as he searched for which oversized ship was Grantaire’s. He fiddled with his belt as he walked. The wire was attached to him discreetly as possible, in case of any formal or informal pat-downs. It ran up the inseam of his shorts and the microphone poked out near his buckle.

“Hey sailor!” someone called out to him. 

He squinted in the afternoon light towards the voice. The figure tilted its head, blocking out the sun.

Grantaire leaned against the railing on the upper deck of a yacht. Sleeves rolled up and white shirt unbuttoned. He was framed by an endless blue sky. Stray curls blowing around in the breeze. 

“Nice view from down there?” Grantaire asked and only then did Enjolras realize he’d been staring. 

He blushed and hoped the other man couldn’t see it. 

“Get up here!” Grantaire yelled then disappeared from view. 

Enjolras stumbled around until he found a set of stairs leading onto the boat. They raised up behind him the second his feet touched the deck, and he lurched at the movement of the boat undocking.

The loud sounds that had mixed into the busy noise of the marina were clearer now. Music played over hidden speakers. Loud enough to almost mask the sounds of conversation. He rounded the corner and stopped short at the sight of people. 

He apparently wasn’t more interesting than their cocktails, since not a single person looked up at his entrance. His ears caught the beginning of stories and the punchlines of jokes as he made his way past the sparse crowd. Someone offered him a joint and he turned it down as he finally spotted the stairs to the upper deck. 

No one else was there. Only Grantaire staring from a lounge chair like a predator. He regretted not taking the hit.

“Sit down,” said Grantaire, pointing to the chair next to him. “I don’t bite.” 

Enjolras didn’t believe that for a second. 

He sat on the baby blue cushion. He was doing a bad job at relaxing but Grantaire made no mention of it. Instead, he picked up his drink and handed it to Enjolras. 

“Here. You look like you could use it.”

Enjolras accepted it gratefully. “Sorry, I’m…” Terrified Grantaire will realize he’s wearing a wire. Afraid of fucking up his only chance at solving this. Worried that they didn’t think this through. 

“...nervous," he finished.

Grantaire smiled but he hid it with a cigarette. “Nice to know I can still make someone nervous,” he mumbled as he lit it. 

A roar of laughter came from below them. 

“Who are those people?” 

Grantaire took a drag. He looked boredly in the direction of the noise and shrugged. 

“Decoration,” he said, smoke wisping out of his mouth.

“Want another one?” he added, gesturing to Enjolras’ now empty glass. 

He was already walking towards the bar, cigarette tucked between his lips. 

“Isn’t there also one downstairs?” Enjolras couldn’t help but ask. 

Grantaire looked at him like he didn’t understand the point of the question. 

If he listened hard enough he could probably hear Combeferre begging for him to stop on the other side of the wire. 

“Two bars. A hot tub. Where’s the helicopter pad?” he asked sarcastically.

“That’s on our other yacht,” Grantaire replied seriously. 

Enjolras nearly pulled his hair out. “It’s like you can’t hear how ridiculous you sound.” 

He had meant to say it under his breath but the wind carried it across the space. He looked at the brunette, afraid he’d offended him. 

To his surprise, Grantaire chuckled. “Oh, I do. But I’m not usually around people who also think this is all ridiculous.” 

“So, why do it?” 

The question seemed to shock him. He looked around at the liquor bottles like one of them might speak up. 

“I don’t know,” he muttered. “It just seems like the sort of thing I’m supposed to do.” 

The silence washed over them in waves. 

“Fuck!” 

Grantaire grabbed his hand where the cigarette had burned down with negligence and stung his finger. The shock of the incident flipped a switch in him. Any realness Enjolras might have witnessed was gone in an instant. 

“Kiss it better?” Grantaire teased. 

Enjolras smiled good-naturedly but he knew exactly what was coming next. 

Grantaire stalked back towards their chairs and right past his own. He stopped in front of Enjolras. With no shame in his eyes, he sat down on his lap.

“Comfortable?” The question had a humorous tone to it that he didn’t really feel. 

Grantaire slid his hands over his polo shirt until they stopped at his shoulders, pushing down lightly. “Very.” 

He pressed his lips against Enjolras’. There wasn’t a hint of hesitation to be found. Rough lips and sharp teeth. Enjolras could feel the very breath being sucked from him. His arms instinctively wrapped tighter around the smaller man. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he was trying to justify enjoying this so much. 

Grantaire’s fingers were quick and clever. They had pulled up his shirt before he even noticed them gripping the fabric. He allowed the terrible thing to be pulled off him and relished the feel of Grantaire against his bare skin. Those rough hands moved lower and he could hear them wrestling with his belt. A jolt of realization cleared his head. The wire. 

In a panic, he grabbed Grantaire’s hips and flipped them. Grantaire’s back hit the chair with a thud. Enjolras was about to apologize but his voice caught in his throat. Grantaire’s wide eyes were glazed over with pure lust. He attacked Enjolras’ face again, fitting him right between his legs. It was too much. Even when Enjolras broke the kiss, he couldn’t seem to get enough air. 

The heat was growing between them. Hotter than the harsh summer rays. Grantaire was growing impatient, rolling his hips up helplessly. He needed to think of something. He couldn’t refuse Grantaire outright. First of all, he didn’t really want to. Not when he could taste the sweat on the other man’s neck as he kissed it. Secondly, he didn’t want him to grow cold and unresponsive. He still needed the confession. 

He made up his mind. Grantaire’s hands were trying to wander back to his shorts and he wrapped his fingers tightly around his wrists. He forced them up over the smaller man's head and was rewarded with a needy moan. He let go, diverting his attention to the bulge in Grantaire’s khaki chinos. He worked mechanically, unbuckling the brown leather belt and unzipping the pants. Grantaire watched in unconcealed surprise but he didn’t dare say anything. In fact, he looked like he was holding his breath. 

Enjolras pulled down the khakis and briefs in one single motion. He thought he could hear a gasp escape Grantaire’s throat. Then again, he also thought he could still hear the sounds of glass clinking and footsteps. Mostly, all he could hear was the blood rushing to his head. He licked his bruised lips and took Grantaire in all the way. 

Grantaire was breathing now, chest heaving with the effort. He was giving Enjolras too much credit. It wasn’t the first blowjob he’d ever given, but he had to admit that he was rusty. Still, like everything he did, he gave it his best. Head bobbing up and down at a steady pace. One of Grantaire’s hands was gripping the top of the chair so hard he could hear his nails stabbing into the wicker. The other hand found its way to the top of his head where it tangled into his hair. 

Grantaire’s babbling turned into a full on scream. If the partygoers downstairs could hear it, they pretended not to. 

The man's body started to quiver underneath Enjolras’ touch. Enjolras pulled off right in time. Cum spilled out over their stomachs and splattered onto their clothes. Thank god they were wearing so much white. 

Grantaire’s hands loosened their hold, and bleary eyes stared up at him. 

“You okay?” Enjolras asked. 

Grantaire sat up and threw his arms around Enjolras’ neck. The force of it pulled their foreheads together. It was an oddly intimate gesture, and he almost felt guilty for the way his mind wandered back to his mission. How was he supposed to get someone to talk about their husband after having oral sex with them? They didn’t exactly teach classes on this at the Academy. 

First things first. He needed to stop whatever the hell this was. 

“You never got me that drink,” he whispered. 

Grantaire laughed. His breath tickled Enjolras’ lips and cold air replaced it when he stood up. 

Enjolras’ brain was doing hurdles. In the background, Grantaire was humming at the bar. 

Finally, something came to him. “Wasn’t I promised a front-page scandal?” he asked in a fake light tone. 

Grantaire smiled at him from where he was dropping ice cubes into a rum and coke. He swirled the cup around and took a sip from it. 

“Who do you write for?” 

Oh no. He wasn’t supposed to be the one answering questions. 

“I freelance,” he replied, casually. 

Grantaire walked to the edge of the deck. He was only wearing his unbuttoned shirt and underwear now. His chinos still hanging off the end of the chair. He sat down and looked over his shoulder. An invitation for Enjolras to come join him. 

Enjolras did so happily. After all, he needed the microphone to be able to pick up any crucial bits of information. 

This part of the deck had no railing. On the side of them, a diving board stuck out of the ship and over the water. Grantaire swung his legs. 

“That sounds tough,” he said, watching his feet go back and forth. “You know if you ever need anything, financially. You can always call.”

Enjolras furrowed his eyebrows. Was he being sugar-babied? It didn’t matter. What mattered was that he had found his segue. 

“Tholomyes has a lot of money. Do you really have access to it all?” 

“I can do what I want if that’s what you’re asking,” Grantaire said, taking another sip of what was supposed to be Enjolras’ drink. 

“Have you ever wanted to get involved in Tholomyes’ business? Not the fishery, the other one.” 

Grantaire didn’t take the bait. 

“Are you really trying to interrogate me again with my cum on your stomach?” 

It was a fair point. Enjolras looked down at himself. He smelt like sex and sweat. 

“Do you have something I could clean up with?” he asked. 

Grantaire smirked. “I’ve got a better idea.” 

Before Enjolras could even finish processing his words, he was falling.

He hit the water with a splash. For a perilous moment, he thought he was drowning. Arms striking out to reach a surface that wasn’t there. Then he heard a second splash. Hands wrapped around him and pulled him up. 

“Shit! Enjolras can you not swim?” Grantaire was saying with a panicked expression. 

Enjolras moved the wet hair from his face and took a deep breath. “Yeah I can, but you just pushed me off the top of a yacht.” 

Grantaire started to giggle. A hysterical and bubbly noise that matched the sound of the water blowing from the boat’s engine.

“I thought I had killed you,” he said, then propelled forward capturing Enjolras in a heated kiss. 

And Enjolras didn’t think he was drowning anymore. He knew it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise that all the Alice in Wonderland references are out of my system now


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Broadcast the boom, boom, boom, boom  
> And make 'em all dance to it

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well none of us can party for the foreseeable future, so here's the next best thing.

_ TAP TAP TAP SQUEAK _

_ TAP TAP TAP SQUEAK _

_ TAP TAP - _

“If you keep pacing, I’m going to use you as target practice,” Eponine snapped, not looking up from her papers. 

Enjolras’ foot stopped mid-air. 

“It didn’t work,” he complained.

“I know,” she said. Her voice was full of lazy interest. The kind you use to talk to rambling children. 

He huffed, not unlike a child, and sat down. Courfeyrac and Combeferre were out getting breakfast, so he was stuck at the station with Eponine. Who obviously didn’t understand the gravity of the situation.

“Why didn’t it work?” 

She closed her eyes and put her hands together over her face as if she were praying for him to disappear. 

“Eponine, I’m serious,” he pleaded, “Combeferre thinks I’m getting too distracted. Courfeyrac thinks I’m not leaning into the persona enough.” 

His eyes traced the cracks in the ceiling. “I don’t know what to think,” he whispered. 

Eponine let out a long-suffering sigh. “It didn’t work because you’re underestimating your opponent.” 

He banged his head lightly against the back of the chair. “Have you been talking to Courf? Grantaire is not protecting Tholomyes, trust me. Love and loyalty have nothing to do with this.”

“They have been married for eight years,” she pointed out. 

He picked up Grantaire’s file from the permanent place it held on her desk. “I barely needed to skim this to guess the whole story. Poor family. Lack of supervision. A lesser man would have ended up in prison, but our Grantaire grows up to be pretty and ambitious. He sleeps his way into high society. Marries the first tycoon to propose. Sets himself up for life. Now years later, he and Tholomyes are bored of each other. Come on Eponine, I know you’ve heard this one before.” 

She yanked the file out of his hand and set it back down. “You sure have a devious interpretation of this. All we really know is that he was born in Florida, his father isn't in the picture, and his mother died when he was younger. It’s kind of sad. Then we don’t have anything on him until he marries Tholomyes.”

Enjolras rolled his eyes. “Yeah, it’s a real American rags-to-riches story.”

“Maybe you’re right,” Eponine shrugged. “That wasn’t my point though. What I meant is that you’re trying too hard?”

“What?” 

“Grantaire is smarter than you think,” she said.

“I know that,” he said, defending himself. He might’ve had no respect for Grantaire’s lifestyle, but he didn’t think the man was dumb. In fact, he seemed to be gifted at backing Enjolras into corners. 

“Then you should know that you won’t trick him into confessing."

“That doesn’t...”

Eponine shot him her patented 'shut up and listen' face. Enjolras closed his mouth. 

“You can’t trick him but from what I heard, and oh boy did I hear some things, -”

At this Enjolras blushed to the very tips of his toes.

“- he already worships the ground you walk on,” she finished. 

Enjolras couldn’t tell if Eponine was messing with him or not. “No he doesn’t,” he retorted, still unable to meet her gaze. 

He thought Eponine’s face would get angrier at the interruption but it transformed completely. She wore the expression of a forlorn prophet. Sad eyes. Tight lips. 

Her voice was softer when she spoke again. “Stop trying Enjolras. Let things progress naturally and Grantaire will confide in you.” 

It was the craziest thing anyone had ever suggested to him. It was also the only thing that might actually work.

* * *

Their first date, or whatever that was, ended with Grantaire telling him he’d call. According to Courfeyrac, this meant that Enjolras had to wait around for his phone to ring. 

Enjolras had been irritated. “What if he doesn’t call?” he’d argued. 

Courfeyrac had snickered. “We all heard what went down between you two. Trust me, he’ll call.” 

Enjolras’ face turned red with what he insisted was fury and not embarrassment.

Courfeyrac was more experienced with these things, so he ended up taking the advice. Turns out, he didn’t have to wait long. His phone rang the next afternoon as he was trying to cook macaroni on a hot plate. 

“Hello?” he answered. The phone rested in one hand and he stirred the pasta with the other. 

“Come out with me this Friday.” 

Grantaire hadn’t bothered to say it was him, but Enjolras found it pointless to pretend that he didn’t know that from the number alone. 

“Where are we going?” he asked. 

“A club,” Grantaire chirped.

Enjolras suppressed a groan. “Which one?”

He could hear clattering and faint shouting in the background. 

“It’s a surprise,” Grantaire said amidst the noise. 

Enjolras’ curiosity got the better of him. “Where are you?” 

“Golfing,” Grantaire replied. “Have you ever been?” 

Many of the upper FBI officials liked to do it, but personally, Enjolras couldn’t stand it. 

“Once. It’s kind of boring,” he admitted. 

“Thank you! That’s what I’m always saying. You’re a man of good taste, Enjolras. It’s why I keep you around.” 

“I thought you kept me around for my good looks,” he joked. It was weird to be so jovial with a target, but considering that this target’s dick has been in his mouth, it seemed appropriate. 

“That too,” Grantaire laughed. “Where should I pick you up?” 

Enjolras dropped the spoon in the boiling water and cursed under his breath. “It would be easier to meet you there,” he insisted, attempting not to sound frantic. 

Grantaire tsked into the receiver. “Nonsense. I’ll pick you up. What’s your address?” 

He looked around the room for some sort of divine inspiration. The macaroni stared back at him. Bingo. 

“Oh snap!” he stage yelled. “My food is burning! Grantaire, I’ve got to go. I’ll text you the address later. Bye.”

He hung up quickly. 

He took a deep breath and turned off the hotplate. Then he picked the phone back up. 

Combeferre answered on the third ring. 

“Combeferre speaking."

“I need an apartment by Friday night,” Enjolras rushed out. 

There was silence on the other end then an exhausted “We’ll be there in ten minutes.”

It didn’t take long for Enjolras to explain the situation. They all agreed that there was no way in hell they could let Grantaire come to the motel. Creating a plausible explanation would be hard enough, but it was also a huge security risk. 

One of the perks of being on such a high-profile case, however, was that they were only ever three calls away from getting anything they needed. So, three calls later they had managed to secure the keys to an empty rental across town. It was perfect. Small and cheap enough to be the believable bachelor pad of a freelance journalist. 

Friday night came and after approving his outfit, Courfeyrac dropped him off. The wire was retrofitted directly onto the back of his belt this time. 

“As long as you take it off yourself, you should be able to whip your dick out without blowing your cover,” Courfeyrac had said in a pseudo-serious voice. 

He unlocked the bare apartment. Now, all he could do was wait. 

* * *

Eponine’s words were whirling around his mind. 

“Stop trying,” he said to no one. “Let things progress naturally.” 

The room wasn’t big enough for the words to bounce off the walls, but he still felt like they were echoing back at him. 

It made him imagine what it might be like if he didn’t have to try. If he really was a freelance journalist, who happened to attract the attention of a gorgeous, wealthy man like Grantaire. It sounded like the beginning of a dollar store romance. Still, maybe there was something to it. Something nicer than the truth. 

Is that what Eponine wanted? For him to pocket the fantasy and take it with him. 

He was still thinking when a horn honked outside. Without even checking, he opened the door. Just like he knew he’d be, Grantaire was smiling through the open window of a black luxury car. 

It was the same smile he always greeted him with. Enjolras had only seen it three times, but he’d memorized all its details. The corners where laughter lines were beginning to form. The lips pulled wide but still restrained. The eyes that betrayed them by lighting up a bit too brightly. 

“You’re staring again!” Grantaire shouted from the car. 

Enjolras didn’t bother to blush. If there was one pattern he’d noticed with Grantaire, it was that he always seemed to be staring. Maybe that was what Eponine meant by “stop trying.” It was simply a matter of not forcing himself to look away. 

He made his way to the back of the car. The interior was cool and spotless like they’d driven it straight off a dealership parking lot. Grantaire sat next to him in a silk blouse and a dark pair of jeans. 

“To the club, Jacques,” he said to the chauffeur.

Enjolras had expected as much but he still couldn’t stop the surprise from showing on his face. 

“What?” Grantaire asked, taking in the expression. He looked around the car as if he was trying to see what Enjolras was being bothered by. Finally, he pursed his lips.

“I should have brought the limo. I knew it. I was so close to bringing it," he fretted, shaking his head. 

A laugh forced its way out of Enjolras’ throat. “Don’t worry, I think the Rolls Royce was enough to shock the neighborhood.” 

Grantaire’s face turned serious for a moment, his eyes burrowing into every corner of Enjolras. Realization spread over his face, and when he opened his mouth Enjolras half-expected he'd been found out. 

Instead, Grantaire said, “You hate rich people, don’t you?” 

Enjolras started a few sentences but abandoned each one. “I don’t -” “I wouldn’t say -” “I mean-”

Grantaire beamed in disbelief at his awkward breakdown. “Oh my god, you do. Not even in a secretly jealous sort of way. You legitimately hate them.” 

Enjolras didn’t see what was so humorous about his disdain for America’s capitalist system and the sort of people it rewarded, and he said as much. 

Grantaire looked at him like he’d said the cutest thing ever. 

He would have been mad but then Grantaire leaned in impossibly close.

“I hope I’m the exception,” he purred. 

“You just might be,” Enjolras whispered back. He didn’t know why he said it, except that he knew Grantaire would kiss him if he did. 

His mouth tasted like bourbon and oranges.

“Well you can resume hating us all tomorrow,” Grantaire said, breaking away, “because tonight, we party.” 

As if on cue, the car stopped. They were idling in a dark alley, nothing but dingy brick buildings around them. 

“You’re not about to kill me, are you?” Enjolras asked, only half-kidding. 

Grantaire gave him a condescending pat on the cheek. “Not in the way you're thinking of.” 

Enjolras followed him out of the car. Grantaire slapped the top of it. With that the chauffeur drove off, leaving them alone in the narrow darkness. 

“Where’s the club?” 

“You’re looking at it,” Grantaire answered, pointing to the building directly in front of them. 

There were no signs or cameras. Not even a single light. Only a steel door set in a brick wall. 

Enjolras raised an eyebrow. 

“The normal entrance is on the other side,” Grantaire explained. He glided up to the door and knocked slowly three times, paused, and then knocked four times in rapid succession. 

Enjolras jumped at the sound of a bolt sliding. The door opened as if by itself into an even darker interior.

From in front of this abyss, Grantaire held out his hand. “But as long as you’re with me, it’s VIP only.” 

Enjolras grabbed it and he didn’t miss the way Grantaire interlocked their fingers. 

He didn’t spot the man who opened the door until he brushed against the imposing silhouette. The creepiness of it all was triggering his fight or flight response, but he allowed himself to be blindly led up a set of metal stairs. 

It occurred to Enjolras that the entrance must be soundproof, because the second the door swung open, his eardrums nearly popped. A DJ he couldn’t see through the blaze of flashing lights was blasting some strange mix between trap and techno. They had entered onto an upstairs platform that was lined with semi-private booths. It looked onto a pit of people, writhing and pressed together. All Enjolras could see was disembodied arms, thrown into the air, threatening to pull him down. 

Grantaire was unfazed by it all. He continued to drag Enjolras down the row of booths. Each one dimly lit and packed with strangers. Some filled with conversation in languages he didn’t know. Others filled with English so slurred it might as well have been another language. Grantaire stopped at the only quiet booth at the end of the row. 

A red leather couch wrapped around a circular table. Through it ran a long, silver pole. 

Enjolras gawked at it. “Is someone going to be using that tonight?” 

“Not unless you want to give it go,” Grantaire joked. 

A scantily-clad server came up to them right after they sat down. 

“The usual,” Grantaire said. That was all it took for the server to start back towards the bar. 

“The usual?” Enjolras repeated with surprise. 

"I like it here,” Grantaire shrugged. 

He was already yelling but Enjolras could barely hear him. “Why? It’s so loud,” he yelled back.

Grantaire laughed and it was inaudible under the sound of the music. Still, Enjolras could tell by the careless little way he threw back his head that it was genuine. 

The brunette filled the space between them until they were sitting pressed together from shoulders to knees. 

“Exactly,” he whispered into Enjolras’ ear. “It’s the perfect excuse to get closer.” 

When he turned his head to look at him their noses brushed together. Grantaire was starting to lean in when they both startled at the sound of a tray being set on the table. 

There were enough shots for an entire group of people. Grantaire temporarily lost interest in his lips and leaned away to grab two of the mini crystal glasses. 

“Cheers,” he grinned, offering one of them to Enjolras. They clinked the shots together and downed them. 

“So, how was your day?” Grantaire asked. 

Enjolras blinked at him, “I’m sorry, what?”

Grantaire hit him lightly on the knee. “Don’t look so surprised. I know exactly how talented that mouth of yours is. I thought I’d give it a chance to talk for once.” 

Enjolras didn’t say anything. He was already lost in all the lies he’d have to maneuver. Grantaire absorbed his silence and leaned on the back of the couch. 

“You’re so guarded,” he observed. “I feel like you’re not yourself around me.” 

The irony was tangible, but Enjolras was the only one that could feel it. 

“I hardly know you,” he said.

Grantaire seemed to take that as a challenge. He pulled the tray of drinks closer to them. “How about a game then?” 

“You and your games," Enjolras chuckled. 

Grantaire smiled, wicked as the devil. “I like games. I always win.” 

Enjolras wanted to ask, “Even the games you don't know you’re playing?” but what reached Grantaire’s ears was “What are the rules?” 

“We’ll take turns thinking of questions and we have to guess each other’s answers. If you guess correctly then I drink, but if you guess wrong then you drink. Vice versa. You first.” 

Enjolras nodded his head. “Okay um...favorite color?”

Grantaire snorted. “That’s too easy. Yours is red, it’s literally all you wear.” 

“That’s not…” but he looked to see that his shirt was in fact red. 

“Well yours is obviously green,” he huffed back. 

They each did a shot.

Grantaire tapped a polished finger against his chin in thought. “So, a harder question then. Age you lost your virginity.” 

Enjolras turned redder than his shirt. 

Brown eyes sized him up. “Seventeen.” 

“Nope. Twenty.” 

“Prude,” Grantaire teased as he picked up a shot. He bounced a little in the seat, “Okay, what about me?” 

“Sixteen,” Enjolras guessed. 

“Close. Fifteen.” 

He knew it was at that age that Grantaire’s mother also died. He wondered if there was a correlation or if it was plain bad luck. He grabbed a glass from the tray and emptied it. 

“Your turn, but no basic questions,” Grantaire ordered. 

“Okay...what about...biggest insecurity."

“Damn, now we’re talking,” Grantaire cheered, running a distracting hand up and down his thigh. “Give me your best shot Mr. Lamarque.” 

A list of insecurities stuck out to Enjolras. The other man didn’t hide them as well as he thought. He decided to go for one that wouldn’t be an instant mood-killer. 

“Your nose. It’s been broken,” he pointed out. He must have been feeling the alcohol because as he said it he traced his finger along the crook of Grantaire’s nose. The brunette laughed underneath the odd touch, breath tickling his hand.

“Huh,” he said thoughtfully, “I’ll give you that one. I used to have such a nice nose too.” 

“How’d it break?”

Grantaire drank and shook his head. “It’s not a fun story,” he answered, dismissing the topic. 

“As for you…” he trailed off. Grantaire squinted at him like there was fine print on his forehead. His scrutinizing gaze lingering on Enjolras' skin. He hummed under his breath, enjoying the tension. Finally, he grinned. 

“Someone like you. A hard-working, judgmental, truth-exposer. I bet you’re always worried you’re not actually a good person.” 

The words weren’t said with venom but Enjolras still tasted poison when he swallowed them down. Of course he was a good person. What he was doing here was...well it was complicated. He never hurt anyone who didn’t deserve it. 

“I’m a good person,” he snapped. 

Grantaire flinched at his shift in attitude. “I’m just fucking with you Enjolras. I know you are,” Grantaire reassured him. 

Before either of them could say anything more, they were interrupted by the server bringing another tray. Two white parallel lines ran down the silver metal. Next to them, a platinum straw. 

“Perfect timing,” Grantaire said. 

The server held the tray steady for him. He grabbed the metal straw and snorted an entire line. His head twitched, a shiver running through him. Then he made to pass the straw to Enjolras. 

Enjolras waved it away. “No thanks."

Grantaire shrugged and made quick work of the second line. 

“Fuck,” he moaned in the lewdest manner Enjolras had ever seen. His hands flashed in the changing lights as he grabbed the back of Enjolras’ neck and crashed their lips together. The waiter stood there for an awkward second before rushing away with the empty tray. 

They sat facing each other, legs loosely intertwined, kissing like they didn’t need to breathe. Unfortunately, they did, and Grantaire broke away panting. 

“I’ll be right back,” he rasped out. 

Suddenly, Enjolras didn’t know what to do with his mouth, and he sipped on a shot glass to make up for the lack of touch. It was an eternity until Grantaire came back. He had a skip in his step that would have looked innocent on anyone but him. 

“What took you so -” The rest of his words were garbled into Grantaire’s mouth. He was more than happy to resume where they’d left off, but he noticed something solid on Grantaire’s tongue. His first reaction was to pull away, but Grantaire tightened his hold on his neck to keep him in place. Enjolras was stronger than the other man. If he really wanted to break free he could. Yet, he didn’t. Part of him knew this was a necessary part of the process. The messy means to the inevitable end. 

The mystery item traveled to his mouth, it was a pill. 

Grantaire broke away satisfied. He grabbed Enjolras’ hand where a half-full glass still nested and nudged it up to his lips. Enjolras took a sip and swallowed. 

“So, what did I just take?” 

Grantaire shrugged. “I don’t know. Some guy gave it to me in the bathroom.”

Enjolras’ eyes bulged. 

“I’m kidding,” Grantaire giggled. “It’s ecstasy. You can’t walk five feet in this place without someone offering it.” 

It was a common drug but Enjolras had never taken it before. “When will I know it’s kicked in?”

Grantaire rolled his head around in thought before dilated eyes came back to meet his. “When you feel like dancing.” 

Enjolras frowned. “I doubt that'll happen."

They passed the time with aimless conversation. Grantaire sat halfway on his lap, rambling about something he wasn’t listening to. He wanted to focus on the words but his mind kept getting swept up in the music. It felt like he was falling and rising with the highs and lows of the beat. He realized that some time ago, Grantaire had stopped talking. He was swaying along to an unheard melody, eyes closed. Enjolras tapped his fingers in tune against the man’s hips. 

Grantaire opened his eyes and Enjolras could see the smile in them. He jumped up, pulling them both to their feet. 

They weren’t running, but it seemed like it. Air rushing past him, coursing in and out of his lungs.

Grantaire couldn’t seem to decide what he wanted more. To get to the dance floor or to touch Enjolras. He alternated between rushing them down the strip of carpet and grabbing Enjolras by the waist to spin around him like a maniac. 

Enjolras’ altered mind knew exactly what it wanted. He kept catching Grantaire, kissing whichever part of his face was closest. Keeping him in his arms was harder than keeping a wave on the sand. Grantaire laughed under his affectionate attack and broke away again and again. 

“If you could see your eyes, Enjolras. You’re so fucked up,” he’d say then start them back off towards the bottom floor. 

He was worried Grantaire would fall down the stairs with the way he skipped two and three steps at a time. He was worried he would fall down them as Grantaire dragged him along. 

The music was impenetrable now. No amount of proximity would allow them to hear each other. It was a good thing then that neither of them were in the mood for talking. 

Grantaire was a spectre in front of him, flashing in and out of existence. He could feel people on every side. The strobes, the bodies, the noise. It should have been overstimulating but somehow it wasn’t enough. 

Grantaire danced circles around him, lost in his own drug-induced trance. He was smiling so much it hurt. In fact, he felt so good it was scary. 

The DJ was yelling something over the mic and the music began a slow crescendo. The crowd threw their hands up, so they did too. Fingers intermingling in the air. 

Grantaire pressed against him, not sparing a centimeter. He kissed up his jaw and tugged on his earlobes with his teeth. If the beat ever dropped, Enjolras didn’t hear it. 

They ran back upstairs, and this time he meant ran. Racing back to their booth in blurry excitement. Grantaire hopped onto the table and from there leaped onto Enjolras, wrapping his legs around him. Enjolras didn’t have enough balance left to hold him, and they fell onto the couch in an ungraceful sprawl. Grantaire cackled as he rolled onto the floor. 

Enjolras tried to restrain his laughter. His ribs were sore. He was aware that this was the highest he’d ever been, and the thought brought panic along with it. Grantaire had sat up now. He ran his hands through Enjolras’ messed up hair and they chased all his thoughts away. 

A horrible piercing sound filled their booth. Grantaire pulled out his phone, screen glowing. 

“Fuck, I have to take this,” he grumbled.

Enjolras thought he’d go outside but instead he jumped back on the table. 

“Hello Felix,” he slurred, swinging lazily on the pole. 

“I know it’s loud. I’m out right now. With who? A girl. Cassandra’s friend from the party. You met her.” 

Enjolras still lay on the couch, watching him spin mechanically around the pole like a ballerina in a music box.

“Yeah, she’s sweet. I’m crazy about her,” he said, looking at Enjolras. 

“Felix, don't be ridiculous. I’m gay, remember? It’s why I married a man.” 

He stopped spinning. 

“Calm down. I’m sorry. Look, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have talked to you like that. I won’t do it again.” 

He leaned against the pole, folding in on himself. “Yes, I know. I’m just a bit messed up right now. Okay, bye.” 

He stood there staring at his blank screen for a while. 

“You okay?” asked Enjolras, sitting up. 

Grantaire’s head shot up like he’d forgotten Enjolras was there. 

“My husband thinks I’m cheating on him,” Grantaire said, stepping down from the table. 

He straddled Enjolras. “Guess even a broken clock is right twice a day.” 

His eyes looked different now, deader, and he hid them in the crook of Enjolras’ neck. 

Enjolras reeled at the feel of warm hands on his cock. Thankfully, Grantaire must've been feeling impatient because he hadn't bothered messing with the wired belt, but slipped his hands right past the waistband. He stroked slowly, his speed increasing until it matched the fast pace of Enjolras’ breaths.

The floor was coming up to meet him or maybe the ceiling was falling down. Either way, the room shrunk to the width of Grantaire’s shoulders, and the height Enjolras could measure with his fingers from Grantaire’s stomach to the tips of his hair. 

“I’m gonna -” he groaned.

Cruel hands let go. Enjolras tried and failed at suppressing the whine in his throat. 

Grantaire fell back languidly onto the couch. He tugged at Enjolras’ shirt, maneuvering the blond man on top of him. They sunk into each other. Enjolras could hear his heart beating out of his chest, or maybe it was Grantaire’s. A steady roll had started between them. The music was still playing and the noises they made hit every single note. 

Grantaire wiggled underneath him. Enjolras ignored it but soon the other man was full-on squirming.

“Is something -” 

“Hold on,” Grantaire interrupted. He turned slightly and began to dig between the cushions. “Something is stabbing me.” 

He pulled out a ring of keys, on which hung a black car remote. He jangled them excitedly in Enjolras’ face. 

“Come on,” he urged. 

Enjolras got whiplash from how fast he went from hovering above the other man to standing in front of him.

“Where are we going?” 

Grantaire was already taking off towards the door. “I said come on!” he shouted. 

Enjolras rushed to catch up with him. His painful erection was on full display underneath his pants, and he prayed it was too dark for anyone to notice. He hobbled after the lean silhouette as they headed towards the front entrance. 

The night air hit his face. It was like a cold splash of water after the suffocating atmosphere of the club. He didn’t know what time it was, but a line of people still waited outside. They gawked at the pair of them giggling on the sidewalk. He supposed in their designer clothes and drugged expressions they seemed otherworldly. It was inconceivable that those unspectacular strangers, living with the promise of a normal and happy future, would wish to be them. Then again, people were always wishing for things they didn’t really understand. 

Grantaire looked around wildly. Enjolras followed him as they walked down the street. He wanted to ask what they were looking for but didn’t want to break the other man's intense concentration. 

Grantaire stopped suddenly, Enjolras nearly smashing into him. A silver Mercedes convertible gleamed in the moonlight. 

“It’s got to be this one,” Grantaire mumbled under his breath. He pressed a button. Red lights like rubies embedded in a necklace flashed in response.

“Fuck yeah!”

Enjolras watched in horror as he unlocked the doors and slipped into the driver’s side. The car roared to life. He saw Grantaire reach over and the passenger door swung open. 

“Aren’t you getting in?” 

What he should have done was use his hours upon hours of negotiation training to talk Grantaire out of this. What he actually did was stutter a bit then get in the car. 

Grantaire fiddled with various buttons trying to figure out how to let the top down. Soon a mechanical whirring started and the dark car roof revealed an even darker sky. 

Enjolras ran his hands over his face. "Oh my god, we're stealing a car."

Grantaire smirked. “We’re just borrowing it.” 

Enjolras clung to the seat when Grantaire tore the car out of the small parking space and into the road. He barreled past a stop sign, terrifying a couple about to cross.

“Grantaire!” Enjolras shouted, frantically reaching for his seatbelt. "I don't think you should be driving." 

The brunette laughed. “Chill out, officer.” 

Enjolras' heart fell into his feet, but the easy expression on the other man’s face assured him it was a joke. 

“I hate how you can’t see the stars in the city,” Grantaire said as they idled at a red light. His head was thrown back, staring into the void above them. 

Enjolras couldn’t remember the last time he saw the stars. “Me too,” he whispered. 

“So let’s go.” 

“What?” Enjolras looked at Grantaire. The streetlights were reflecting on his face, sweaty and distorted. He looked insane. 

Before the light turned green, Grantaire hit the accelerator. Angry beeps filled the intersection. One car almost swerved into another. Grantaire ignored it all and finished his illegal turn. 

“What the hell was that?” Enjolras panicked. 

No response came back. “Grantaire?” he prodded.

The other man was shaking now, fingers trembling where they had turned white on the steering wheel. He hadn’t taken his foot off the accelerator. 

“Let’s go, Enjolras. Right now. What’s keeping us here?” Grantaire rambled, words tripping over each other. 

They turned onto the highway so sharply the car almost drifted into a ditch. 

Enjolras was sobering up quickly. Fear dispersing the pleasant haze he'd been trapped in. 

“The two of us,” Grantaire gasped out. “We could start new lives.” 

“What about your husband?” Enjolras knew even as he said it that it was the wrong chord to strike. 

“My husband,” Grantaire scoffed. 

They were going so fast now that the wind stabbed into his face. The rush of it threatened to blow out his eardrums. 

“Tell me Enjolras. Have you ever had someone give you the world and then tear it apart with their bare hands?” 

In the distance, reflectors flashed in warning. They blocked off a concrete bridge. The cars far ahead of them were turning off at an exit point, but Grantaire wasn’t slowing down. 

“Grantaire?” he strained out, watching the electronic letters spelling “BRIDGE CLOSED FOR REPAIRS.” 

“Do you know what that feels like?” cried Grantaire.

Their headlights flooded across the orange and white barricades. 

“Grantaire!” 

The man was looking in front of him but not seeing anything. “And I can’t even...I can’t…”

Enjolras grabbed the wheel causing the car to swerve violently. He threw himself across Grantaire to hit the brake. They stopped so suddenly the car lifted onto two wheels. Grantaire wasn’t wearing a seatbelt and Enjolras held him hard enough to break ribs to keep him from flying out. Time stopped as the Mercedes tittered on the edge of flipping over. It slammed back onto the road, right side up. Airbags popped out theatrically. 

The night was dead silent save for the sound of their heavy breathing. Enjolras slowly peeled himself off of Grantaire. 

He didn’t say anything. Just stared into nothing for infinite seconds. Then he looked at Enjolras, completely stricken, and started to cry. 

Enjolras didn’t process the tears when he first saw them. The terror and surprise numbing him. Grantaire’s whole body wracked with sobs. Enjolras startled into action, undoing his seatbelt and properly gathering the man into his arms. 

Grantaire was quaking. Heart-rattling sounds muffled against Enjolras’ shoulder. 

He didn’t know why this was happening, but he knew he’d do anything for Grantaire to stop crying like that. 

He rubbed circles against the green silk blouse. “It’s okay. It’s okay. It’s okay,” he kept repeating. 

Grantaire shook his head frantically against Enjolras’ chest. He wailed like he was dying, and Enjolras was more scared than when they’d been doing well over 100mph towards disaster.

The agent changed tactics. “I’m here,” he tried. “It’s okay because I’m here now.” 

It seemed to work. Grantaire’s breathing slowed down. He hiccupped a few times and fell limp against Enjolras. They sat for a while in the renewed quiet.

“I should drive us back,” Enjolras said. 

Grantaire nodded his head as he moved away from him. His face was blotchy and bright red. Covered in the same snot and tears that soiled Enjolras’ shirt. He wiped his face with his sleeves and scooted into the passenger’s seat. 

Enjolras looked around the car for damages, and by some miracle, it wasn’t even scratched. He climbed into the driver’s side. He was about to start the car when Grantaire cleared his throat. 

“I’m sorry you had to witness that,” he said, voice scratchy. 

Enjolras squeezed his hand. “You don’t have to apologize.” 

Grantaire looked down at where their hands laid. “My marriage with Felix it...it’s not great. He treats me like another one of his assets. Like the fishery or the cocaine. Worse even. The cartel makes him millions every week. What do I do?” he asked with a self-deprecating laugh.

“I shouldn’t have dragged you into all this,” he continued softly, “but…”

He looked up and met Enjolras’ concerned gaze. “Did you really mean what you said? About being here for me.” 

“Yes,” he said because it felt like the right thing to do. 

Grantaire leaned forward and kissed him gently. When he leaned back a calm smile Enjolras had never seen before rested on his face. 

He started the car and began to turn them around. The top was still down and the wind blew gently at this speed. 

“Still no stars,” Grantaire sighed. 

Enjolras looked up into the darkness and then felt it fall over him. His hand flew to where the mic still poked out of his belt buckle. The confession. He’d gotten it. He swallowed down the confusing mix of emotions that welled up. He’d succeeded. 

They could finally move on to the next part of the plan. 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Darling, darling, doesn't have a problem  
> Lying to herself 'cause her liquor's top shelf

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This putting lyrics in the chapter summary thing is addictive, so expect more of it (I've also changed the summary for the second chapter). Anyway, I apologize in advance.

The sun settled on his cheek, not a warm caress but a violent slap of heat. Rivaled only by the humidity hosing out his lungs. The air was thick, the way it had been that night. When he’d caught a cab to his motel room, and found his team talking around a box of pizza. Apparently, all they could hear was music and rustling for the longest time. So, they stopped listening, trusting that Enjolras could take care of himself. They'd looked at him in wide-eyed anticipation. 

“Well,” Courfeyrac had said, half a slice still dangling from his hand, “Did you get it?” 

They didn’t know. He had felt that fact sink into him like it mattered. Like it meant he could've done anything other than tell them the truth. For one unexplainable moment, he almost didn't. His tongue moving to the roof of his mouth. It would have taken one easy breath to finish the word ‘No’. It took all the strength he had to say the word ‘Yes’. 

Courfeyrac ran out to get champagne, and with cheap plastic glasses, they toasted. To the downfall of Tholomyes. To the success of their mission. To Grantaire. 

“You’re awfully quiet.” 

He snapped out of his thoughts, his surroundings coming back into focus. The cracked sidewalk. The chain-link fences. The dead palm trees.

“Hmm?” 

“I said you’re awfully quiet,” repeated Grantaire. 

Enjolras shrugged. “Just tired.” 

“Well I know more than a few ways to wake you up,” teased Grantaire with a wink, “but we should eat first. Build our stamina." 

He swung a plastic bag of takeout in one hand. With his other, he swung their arms as they walked. 

“Good idea by the way. That we eat at your apartment. I know I haven’t been very discreet, but you make it so easy to forget I'm married. You’re like Vicodin, but better. There’s no comedown with you.”

Enjolras’ stomach lurched. The pills were sitting uneasily. The ones he’d taken for his hangover as he stared in the mirror, reminding himself of who he was and what he came here to do. 

They rounded the corner to his fake downstairs apartment. 

“I can’t wait to see the inside,” Grantaire gushed behind him. “I’m thinking bookcases, a sink full of dishes, one of those cork boards overflowing with story ideas.”

“It’s minimalistic,” Enjolras lied, opening the door for the other man. 

Grantaire walked through.

“Minimalistic? Enjolras, this place looks like you don’t even live in it,” he laughed.

Grantaire set down the takeout on the kitchen table. “Have you ever heard of decorating?” he joked as he walked to the cabinets. He opened them to reveal empty shelves. Enjolras could see the confusion in his shoulders. The way they tensed up as he noticed the empty counters and the undisturbed layers of dirt. 

“Why don’t you have any -”

He turned around, words dying on his tongue. 

“What’s with the gun?” he whispered. 

Enjolras held his pistol tighter. His arm straight and steady as he pointed it at Grantaire. 

“Sit down,” he ordered. 

Not only did Grantaire not move, he smiled. 

“I’m all for role-playing, but we'll need a safe-word.” 

“Goddamnit,” Enjolras sighed, rubbing his face with his free hand. 

“That’s a horrible safe-word." 

“I’m not playing with you,” he gritted out, stalking closer. “Sit the fuck down.” 

The smile fell from Grantaire’s face. He looked at the floor like he could see it lying there. 

Enjolras didn’t have time for this. “Grantaire,” he said, voice softer. 

The brunette looked up at the sound of it, face blank and incomprehensive. 

“I know you’re in shock, but if you don’t sit down, I’ll make you.”

Grantaire stumbled into a chair, the very picture of disbelief. 

“I don’t...what are...Enj?”

Enjolras ignored him. Instead, he focused his attention on the approaching footsteps in the hallway. 

A strange understanding settled over Grantaire’s features when Combeferre and Courfeyrac came into the room. 

“Are you ransoming me?” he asked, tonelessly. 

“Worse,” Enjolras answered, grabbing his badge from his pocket. “Grantaire Tholomyes you’re under arrest.” 

Grantaire looked like he shot him. Such a realistic pain twisted his features that Enjolras checked if his gun was smoking. 

He hardened himself to the other man's emotions. The stakes were too high. Truthfully, they could never solve this without Grantaire, but they needed him to believe otherwise. 

An interrogation at its core is a performance. A dance of steps to gain fear or trust. Each move is a calculated improvisation, and it starts the second you walk into the room. Which is why the first thing Courfeyrac did when he reached the table, was rummage through the bag of takeout. 

“What are we eating?” he laughed, popping a piece of orange chicken into his mouth. 

Enjolras put up his gun and sat across from Grantaire. Combeferre leaned against the opposite wall. 

“You’re technically not under arrest, yet” Courfeyrac corrected, licking his fingers. “Whether you stay a free man will depend on your cooperation.” 

Grantaire didn’t seem to be hearing them. He was grabbing his hair in fists, mumbling “stupid” over and over again like a broken record.

Courfeyrac raised an eyebrow at Enjolras. 

The blond took a deep breath. Then he slammed his hand down on the table. 

Grantaire jumped an inch into the air, but it caused him to gather his senses.

“If I’m not under arrest, then you can’t keep me here,” he snarled, standing up. 

Combeferre calmly walked into the path of the door. He was by far the most imposing of them, 6 feet and 5 inches of bulking muscle. 

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed Grantaire,” Courfeyrac drawled as he ambled through the kitchen. He theatrically dragged a finger across the dusty granite. “But we’re not in a police station.”

He leaned against the countertop and slipped his hands in his pockets. It caused his gray blazer to push back revealing the loaded pistol on his side. “We can do anything we want.”

Grantaire fell back into his chair.

“We don’t want to hurt you,” Enjolras assured him. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Too late,” Grantaire bit out. 

Enjolras flinched. 

“This is about Felix isn’t it?” he asked. “God, it was so fucking obvious.” 

“The FBI is closing in on your husband’s operations," Combeferre explained. "Your knowledge of his crimes makes you complicit.”

“I don’t know what human rights violation you’re planning here, but coercing a confession is illegal,” he seethed, narrow eyes stabbing into Courfeyrac. 

“We don’t need to coerce a confession,” Courfeyrac smirked, “We already have one.” 

On cue, Combeferre set a small tape recorder on the table. 

Grantaire eyed it warily. “What is this?” 

“Why don’t you click it and find out.” 

A shaking finger pressed down the play button. Through the static, Grantaire’s voice, still rough with tears, filtered through. 

“...He treats me like another one of his assets. Like the fishery or the cocaine. Worse even. The cartel makes him millions every week…” 

Enjolras purposefully didn’t look up as the audio played, though he could feel Grantaire’s gaze burning his skin. 

“That’s not enough -”

“To convict you?” Courfeyrac finished for him. “Maybe, but what if I could promise you.” 

“Promise me what?” 

Courfeyrac leaned down to his eye level, and in a voice that conveyed complete certainty said, “That no one will care.” 

Grantaire opened his mouth then closed it. He turned towards Enjolras, eyes begging for something the agent couldn’t give him. 

“You’re only real defense would be to garner sympathy. That would probably work if you were a woman, but you’re not,” Enjolras told him.

“There’s an awful lot of conservative judges in Florida,” Courfeyrac added.

If there was any fire left in Grantaire, they’d successfully doused it. 

“What do you want?” he muttered. 

“You told me once that you didn’t want to go down with Tholomyes,” Enjolras said. “We’re trying to help you. All we need is for you to help us.” 

“Just tell me what you want,” Grantaire pleaded, voice breaking on the last word. 

Enjolras was normally the one to tear the offender to pieces. It wasn’t the relief he thought it'd be, to be the one manipulating those pieces into place.

“Where are the hard drives?” 

Grantaire blinked at him. “Hard drives?”

“The hard drives Tholomyes keeps in his office computer. They’re not there, where are they?” 

“I - I don’t know.” 

He sighed. “You help us, we help you. Remember? So, tell us where they are, and you don’t have to do anything else.” 

“I don’t know,” Grantaire repeated, more forcefully this time.

Combeferre sat the contract on the table. “You can sign this first if that will make you more comfortable,” he offered in his soothing academic voice. “Do you want me to go through it with you?” 

Grantaire pushed the papers away. “I’m serious. I. Don’t. Know.” 

No one noticed Courfeyrac draw his gun until they heard him cock it. 

Grantaire’s chair crashed to the floor from how fast he stood up, back against the wall. Enjolras stood up too, but he didn’t move. 

Grantaire was hyperventilating. The muzzle of the gun so close to his nose, you could hear his breath hit the metal. 

“We’ll ask you one more time,” Courfeyrac threatened, “Where are the hard drives?” 

“I swear, I’m telling the truth. Felix has never mentioned them,” Grantaire rushed out. 

Courfeyrac instantly let his arms fall, hands resting on his hips. “Fuck, guys,” he said, looking at the two of them, “I think he really doesn’t know.” 

Enjolras facepalmed. “Jesus Christ, Courf.” 

“What? You said I could be bad cop this time,” he huffed quietly, holstering his gun. 

Grantaire’s legs fell out from under him. Enjolras watched him slide down to the floor. 

“That was a bit excessive, don’t you think?” he whispered to Courfeyrac. 

“So you can stab a perp in the hand but I can’t pull a gun on one?” 

“Grantaire’s not a -” He closed his eyes. Why was he getting so riled up about this? 

He walked over to where Grantaire was curled up against the wall. “Leave me alone, Enjolras,” he mumbled as the blond man kneeled down in front of him. “If that’s even your real name.

“It is. Lamarque isn’t my real last name but -”

Grantaire scoffed, hands rubbing his eyes. “I’ll sign whatever you want. I’ll promise not to warn Felix. Just...just let me go home. Please.” 

“I’m afraid that ‘I don’t know’ isn’t good enough.” 

Grantaire took in a shaky breath. “I told you, Felix -”

“And I believe you, but we need something Grantaire. Do you know anyone who might know the location of the hard drives?” 

He shook his head. 

Courfeyrac tapped his fingers against the table. “Eight years of marriage and you don’t know a single person Tholomyes would trust with them?” 

Grantaire bit a quivering lip and shook his head once more.

Courfeyrac ran a hand through his hair, then in one swift motion flipped a chair across the room. It skidded over the floor, smacking against the kitchen wall. “He’s lying to us!”

Grantaire was fighting to breathe again. 

Enjolras grabbed his hands. The brunette tried to pull away but he held onto them tighter. 

“Grantaire, look at me.” Red eyes locked onto his. “Breathe with me, okay?” 

His chest moved in exaggerated motions, and Grantaire copied it until his own breathing steadied. 

“All we need is a name,” he whispered. 

“Montparnasse,” Grantaire gasped out. “He - He’s like a son to Felix. He’d know.” 

“Thank you,” Enjolras said, standing up. He held out a hand to Grantaire. The man ignored it and lifted himself off the ground. 

“This changes the terms of the contract,” announced Combeferre. “I’ll have to draft up a new one, but the gist will stay the same. You offer us information and we’ll make sure you come out of this unharmed.” 

Grantaire nodded mutely. 

Enjolras was distracted by the feel of Courfeyrac sidling up to him. 

“How’d I do?” 

Enjolras gave him a small smile. “You did well.” 

“It was hard,” Courfeyrac admitted. “He’s…”

Enjolras could see him searching for the right word. 

“...jumpier than most of the guys we strongarm. It uh - made me feel bad.” 

Enjolras patted him on the shoulder. “That’s a good thing, Courf. I know the line gets blurry sometimes, but it’s our hearts that separate us from them.” 

Courfeyrac hummed in agreement and walked off to pick up the chairs.

When Enjolras turned around, Grantaire was waiting at the door. He went to meet him. 

“What did Combeferre say?” 

“That he’ll call me to sign the papers when they’re ready.” 

Grantaire reached out his hand. It hesitated in the air for a moment before resting on Enjolras’ cheek. He held his face as his eyes searched it. Then his hand fell back to his side. Without another word, he opened the door and disappeared into the sunlight.

* * *

Less than 24 hours later, Enjolras heard a knock at his door. 

“Come in."

The smell of coffee entered the room along with the distinct tap of oxfords. He didn’t need to look up to know it was Combeferre. 

The tall man set a to-go cup of coffee in front of him, then sat in the chair on the other side of the small motel table. Enjolras put down the papers he’d been shuffling. He took a gulp of the coffee, not caring that it burned his tongue.

“You look like you haven’t slept,” Combeferre noticed. 

Enjolras pressed his palms against his eyes. “I haven’t.” 

“What have you been doing?” 

He let a tired hand flip aimlessly through the papers. “I’ve been looking for more information on this mysterious Montparnasse. I’ve had Joly send everything the Bureau has. It’s practically nothing.” 

“That took all night?” Combeferre asked, a skeptical eyebrow raised. 

Enjolras frowned. “What else would I be doing?” 

Combeferre scooted his chair closer. “I’ve been in the field for a few more years than you, Enj.” 

“And I rely on your expertise,” Enjolras said, earnestly but with a hint of suspicion. 

Combeferre smiled at that and continued. “So, I’ve seen and heard a lot of things.” 

Enjolras let out an impatient huff, wanting him to get to his point. 

“What I’m trying to say, is that it’s not uncommon for an undercover agent to develop real feelings for someone they have to -” 

“Is this about Grantaire?” 

“I’m not trying to tell you what you feel,” Combeferre backtracked, sensing the anger in Enjolras’ tone. “I just know that pretending to care for someone and then having to do what we did back there is hard. If you need to talk about it I -” 

“I don’t need anything except for you to stay in your place, agent,” Enjolras hissed. 

Anyone else would have snapped back, but Combeferre only sighed. “You’re a good leader Enj, but you don’t know how to let people in.” 

Enjolras thought he could feel the steam coming out of his ears, his blood boiling. All sorts of points fought to get to the front of his mouth. That he didn’t have time for emotion when people were dying every day they didn’t stop Tholomyes. That the Bureau had entrusted  _ him _ , not Combeferre, with this assignment. He didn’t get to say any of it though, because Combeferre had already stood up and walked away. 

“Oh, I forgot to mention,” he said before he left, “The new contract is being sent over tonight.” 

“Okay,” Enjolras nodded, voice strained. “You can bring it to him tomorrow.” 

“Actually, I already called Grantaire,” Combeferre admitted. “He wants you to bring it.”

* * *

Loose gravel crushed under his tires as he pulled up to the side of the street. He closed the car door behind him. He’d forgotten his shades, and an ache was beginning in the back of his eyes. He rubbed at them as he approached a wrought iron gate. 

A rectangular sign jutted out from it:

_ THOLOMYES FAMILY MUSEUM _

_ PUBLIC HOURS: _

_ WED-SAT  _

_ 9AM-7PM _

_ FOR PRIVATE TOURS CALL - _

He pressed the intercom button, a female voice filtered through.

“Tholomyes Family Museum. Please state your business.” 

He looked up at the two-story giant, held together by bulky columns. It had the fantastical quality of being built for one reason, and being used for an entirely different one. The remnant of a chimney still sticking out the roof. 

“I’m here to see Grantaire,” he said into the receiver. 

The gate clicked. 

He made his way up white steps to a glass-paneled door. He couldn’t see anyone through it, and he wondered if he should knock. He decided to at least try the handle first. 

The creak of the door disturbed the quiet that seemed to permeate the place. A reception area stood abandoned and behind it an empty coat check room. 

“Hello?” he called out. 

“Enjolras?” 

He whipped around to see a tall, blonde woman who hadn’t been there a second ago. She wore a smart violet dress, and a tight braid hung in front of her shoulder. 

“Yes."

She didn’t give her name in return, just gestured to the double doors in front of him. “Grantaire will meet you in the main room.”

He nodded as she walked away, low heels clicking down the opposite direction. 

The main room was bright. A grand staircase wrapped around a marble statue of a man. His handsome features perfectly chiseled. Along the walls were archways, leading to multi-colored pockets of galleries. One glowed darkly near the stairway. 

Grantaire wasn’t anywhere to be seen. So, he decided to fill the time by looking at the display cases peppering the space. Each one a collection of artifacts in porcelain or metal or clay. He was getting closer and closer to the gallery, its crimson paint stark against the white of the main room. He tiptoed into it. 

His peripheral vision was filled with the gold of frames, but only one painting caught his eye. It was humongous, demanding the entire center wall to itself. A sliver of light illuminated it from above. A young, pale girl stood in front of an altar in a flower veil and wedding dress. A hideous old man leered down at her. A priest in ornate robes slipped a ring onto a limp finger. Enjolras’ gaze kept coming back to the girl’s face, it was so -

“Heartbreaking, isn’t it?” 

Grantaire wasn’t looking at him, his eyes locked on the painting.

The other man’s sudden presence should have shocked Enjolras, but it didn’t. 

“What’s it called?” he asked. 

“The Unequal Marriage.”

The silence was so heavy, it felt wrong to disrupt it. So, his voice came out in a whisper when he said, “I have the contract.”

He heard the sound of Grantaire turning on his heels. He looked at the retreating back of the man, unsure if he should follow. Grantaire didn’t look over his shoulder, beckoning Enjolras in that way he often did. Instead, he kept striding forward and out of the room. And in that way Enjolras often did, he chased after him.

“We can look over it, but first I need to reset the sprinklers.”

Enjolras nodded in approval, though Grantaire wasn’t really asking. 

The brunette side-eyed him. “What?” he snapped. 

Enjolras stared back in confusion. “I didn’t say anything.” 

“No, but that vein in your forehead is popping out. Which means you have something you want to ask me.” 

Enjolras subconsciously touched his forehead. He didn’t have a vein. Grantaire was right about one thing though. 

“What is this place?” 

“Can’t you read?” Grantaire sneered. “It’s Felix’s family’s museum.” 

Enjolras set his jaw. “I know that. I meant why are we doing this here?”

“Is there a better place we should be doing it?”

He didn’t have an answer to that. “Fair point, but won’t Felix know I’m here?"

“Felix doesn’t care about the museum. Not anymore,” he said, wearing the expression of someone remembering something that should have stayed forgotten. 

They walked out into a carefully sculpted garden. Pruned trees. Rose bushes. White flowers arranged in lines against the gray walkway. 

“And you?” Enjolras asked.

Grantaire looked at the building with a fond smile, “I’m here so much, it feels like mine.” 

“Isn’t it? You are a Tholomyes.” 

Grantaire laughed like he’d said something hilarious. Then he leaned down to prod at a panel attached to the wall. “Cosette, you met her, she does all the bookkeeping. I help how I can. I'm just lucky Tholomyes lets me do it."

Enjolras wasn’t sure how to respond to that, so he let the silence fill the space between them again. For the longest time, there was only the sound of birds and cars and the fountain.

Grantaire held a watering can under a rusty spout, sleeves pushed up to his elbows. 

“I prefer to do the roses by hand,” he explained. 

Enjolras strolled alongside him, watching the watering can rain over the flowers. 

“I never took you as the gardening type,” he said, unsure of where this need to keep up conversation was coming from. 

Grantaire nudged open the petals of a rose. “My mother was a waitress, but she had wanted to be a florist,” he mused. “She’s dead now -”

Dark eyes looked at him. “But you knew that, didn’t you?” 

Enjolras nodded, an unfamiliar shame prickling under his skin. 

Grantaire frowned down at the flowers. “Tell me a story, Enjolras."

It was a strange thing to say, but no stranger than anything he’d ever said before. So, Enjolras humored him. 

“Which one?” he asked. 

“Mine.”

The birds seemed to stop and the cars and the fountain. Enjolras cleared his throat.

“You were born here in Florida as Grantaire Martinez. Your father left the state while your mother was still pregnant with you. Your mother, Veronica Martinez, was a waitress at the cantina on 5th street. She died in a robbery gone wrong when you were fifteen. You went into foster care. At 16, they reported you missing, an assumed runaway. They never found you. Then nothing until you marry Tholomyes.” 

Grantaire trudged off, Enjolras trailing behind him. They stopped in a small courtyard, the fountain still coughing up water in the center of it. Grantaire set down the empty watering can. 

“Go on,” he dared him. “I know you think you can fill in the blanks. Everyone does.” 

Enjolras bit his tongue. He was often called tactless, but even he understood that he couldn’t repeat what he’d said to Eponine. 

“You think I was a whore,” Grantaire said for him. “Well, how does it feel to be right?” 

Enjolras wanted to object or apologize. Mostly, he wanted to insist they focus on the contract and put an end to this horrible topic. 

“I didn’t marry him for the money though,” Grantaire continued. “They all say that, but I didn’t.” 

The question came out of his mouth before he could stop it. “Then why did you?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Grantaire asked with a tilt of his head. “Because I loved him.” 

He looked at Grantaire like the man was having another mental breakdown. His lips fumbled around the word, “How?”

The brunette sat down on a polished, wooden bench. “It’s a much nicer story if you want to hear it?” 

Enjolras wasn’t sure if he wanted to hear it, but something in the way Grantaire sat said that he needed to tell it. 

He gestured for him to start. 

“I hadn’t really thought things through when I ran away. Soon enough, I was hungry and living on the streets. One night during this freak winter storm, I was sitting on the sidewalk. Hands frozen to the little metal cup I was holding. This man came up to me. He was gross. Started telling me that he knew a way I could get warmer and make a little money while at it. I almost told him to fuck off, but...I didn’t. It was so easy. All I had to do was lie back and let it happen to me.” 

Enjolras' stomach dropped. “Is that how you met Tholomyes? He...hired you?” 

“No, Felix was…” he sighed. “Felix was a god. Wealthy and charismatic. He could’ve had anyone.” 

Enjolras watched the scenery reflected back at him in wistful brown eyes.

“I was 19 when we met,” Grantaire said. “I had been looking for a place to find higher-paying clientele, but the upscale bars and hotels were too competitive. So, I came here.” 

“A museum?” 

“Lonely places attract lonely people,” he replied. “You’d be surprised how many men you’ll find sitting here until close, hoping there’s something between the brushstrokes of their favorite painting that will make everything better.” 

He smirked. “That’s where I came in.” 

Grantaire patted the spot next to him, inviting Enjolras to sit. With a healthy amount of caution, Enjolras did.

“Once I targeted a john, I’d see what painting he’d been staring at. Then I’d sit next to him and say something sad and profound about it to capture his attention. Automatically, he feels a touch more understood, and therefore, more trusting. So, in a voice all high and raspy like a woman's, I’d ask ‘You’ve been looking at this one for a long time, why?’ Before you know it, he’s giving me his life story. See, all anyone really wants is someone to listen and at least pretend they care.”

Enjolras thought about that for a second. Is that what Grantaire wanted? Is that why he was telling him all this? 

He tuned back into Grantaire, who had slid a lot closer in the time he was distracted.

“First, you put your hand on their shoulder to see how they’ll react.” As he said this his hand found Enjolras’ shoulder. “Then you ever so subtly slide it down to their elbow.” The rough hand slid over his sleeve. “If they still haven’t jerked away, then you slide down until your hand is resting over theirs.” He could feel goosebumps across his entire arm summoned by Grantaire’s touch. “If by now they’re still receptive, you’ve got them. You look them in the eye and say ‘let me make things better,’ and seal the deal by sliding your hand over their thigh and towards their -”

Enjolras jumped halfway to the other side of the bench. 

Grantaire chuckled mischievously. “It wasn’t long until security caught on. Normally, they’d just call the police, but Felix was there that day and decided to deal with it himself.” 

Grantaire was quiet for so long that Enjolras thought he might’ve finished. Right as he opened his mouth to say something, the other man spoke again. 

“He came up to me. Told me I looked young, so he’d give me a chance to leave on my own if I promised that I’d never come back. I don’t know what possessed me. I had just grown so fond of the museum. Maybe I’d spent so much time leaning on its walls, all dolled up, that I had begun to feel like one of its paintings. For whatever reason, I didn’t want to leave. I told Felix he had it wrong, that I wasn’t a prostitute. He told me that if I wasn’t a prostitute why was I coming in here every night, talking to strangers, and leaving with them.” Grantaire’s eyes crinkled at the side as he fought to suppress a laugh. “I told him I was an art buyer, looking for prospective clientele.” The laugh won. 

“Did it work?” asked Enjolras, who was more invested in this story than he thought he’d be.

“Of course not! Felix decided to ‘test me’ and for an hour we ran around the museum. He would cover up the plaques, and ask me to name the paintings. I got every single one right. He accused me of memorizing them, so he brought me into the storage to test me on the paintings that hadn’t been put up yet. I got those all right too. Finally, he became fed up, and told me I would either admit the truth or he’d call the cops. I remember it like yesterday. On my knees, crying, begging for him not to. Told him I’d do anything.” 

Enjolras bristled and Grantaire noticed. "Don’t worry, he was a perfect gentleman. He picked me up off the ground and promised not to get me in trouble. I told him I only prostituted because I was desperate for money, and I wouldn’t do it there anymore if he’d let me come back. So, in his infinite graciousness, he gave me a job here as a groundskeeper.” 

Enjolras supposed that if you squinted it was a sweet story, but it didn’t answer the question. “How did you get married?”

Grantaire’s fingers twitched like they were twirling an imaginary cigarette. “He was always around back then. Watching me from the upstairs window. Coming into the garden to talk to me. Complimenting me. Touching me. It was hardly two weeks later when I let him fuck me - right here on this bench.” 

Childish or not, Enjolras couldn’t help the “ew” that came out of his mouth as he leapt up. Grantaire just snorted in response. 

“Once I turned 20, he proposed.”

"No one objected to that?" Enjolras asked, eyes wide with shock.

Grantaire’s face hardened. “Why, because I was poor?”

“Because he was 34.” 

Enjolras knew that Tholomyes was a lot older than Grantaire, but he hadn't known Grantaire was so young when they married. He realized that some simple math would have revealed as much.

Grantaire shook his head. “I think you’ve got the wrong idea. I had no one when I met Tholomyes. He took care of me.” 

Enjolras let out an exasperated breath. “He took advantage of you.” 

Grantaire blinked at him like no one had ever said that to him before. It made Enjolras’ insides twist up. 

“Th-That's not -” he stuttered. “If anything, I took advantage of him.” 

“Is that what he tells you?” 

A frown was set deep in Grantaire’s face. “You should go,” he mumbled. 

Enjolras grabbed a folder and pen from his bag. “We still need to go over the contract.” 

Grantaire snatched them from him, flipped to the last page, jotted down a messy signature, and pushed them back into Enjolras’ hands. 

“There,” he barked. “Now, leave.” 

Enjolras hesitated, “We should talk about -”

“I’ll talk to Combeferre about Montparnasse,” he interrupted. 

Enjolras stayed rooted to his spot, unsure if he should really leave Grantaire like this. 

“Grantaire I -”

“I said ‘leave’ Enjolras.”

The agent dragged his feet back to the door but stopped before he opened it. 

“Why tell me all this?” he asked the back of Grantaire’s head. 

Grantaire didn’t turn around. “Because even though I shouldn't, I care about what you think of me." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been updating pretty consistently, but the next update will take a while cause I've got midterms coming up.


End file.
